Saithorthepyro
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Chapter 45 - Bearings IV
🕑 Added 2025-05-10 02:48:21 +0000 UTCCW: Character uses racist language referring to a real-life ethnicity, gore
Two steps forward, hammer clicking back as one of the dazed thugs on the ground notices me and yells a warning to the ones still standing. Two more steps, as some of them stop in their pummeling of Tolman and Gregory. Hands reach for weapons hidden inside coats. I’m faster.
My revolver bucks in my hands, pulling backwards as I come to a halt. The bullet blasts out, racing across the open air, slicing a path to the left of a thug’s head. Everyone pauses.
I smile. No one wants to make a move and risk being the first with a bullet in their gut. They outnumber me, of course. Even factoring in the dubious help of Marat and Jones, they could easily overwhelm me. In their minds, at least, since they probably didn’t know about diabolism and alchemy and a dozen other tricks.
But as long as I was keeping to warning shots, who wanted to risk a bullet through the stomach?
I could see Tolman and Gregory better now. My fellow supposed escapee from the Black Flame had some scrapes, a split lip, a black eye, and the sleeves of his coat torn to shreds from block blows. He eyed me with wariness, probably remembering my entirely justified decision to sever him from my life. Gregory looked like overly tenderized meat, flesh swollen, nose broken, clothes a mess, as he bled from his nose and cuts all over his face.
He’d tried fighting too hard. This had clearly been a beating intended as a lesson. When you were outnumbered this badly and losing, sometimes the best move was to take your lumps and crawl around on broken limbs. Head off to some dark corner to heal and plot revenge for a later date. Revenge was required, always, otherwise you looked weak, but it was picking your fight that was important.
I’d clasped my hands deeply around a mask for this. Not that I couldn’t handle Gregory or Tolman, it was just…easier to seek a comforting separation. Some distance. Some distance expressed in a way one would be familiar with and one would despise. That might be for the best in the end.
The silence was mounting, and the tension was building as the initial shock of my bullet wore off. Give it too long, and someone would test this stalemate we found ourselves in.
“Well,” I said, cutting that tension off. “What a surprise to find so many people I recognize here. Tolman, Gregory, Holmsteader’s thugs who destroyed my window earlier this morning, what a pleasant surprise. My apologies for interrupting this, but I really must insist you release the dandy.”
Gregory tried to sputter something out, probably protesting my word choice, but couldn’t get more than a few inarticulate syllables out.
“The larger Infernal as well,” I added, deciding to toss Tolman a bone. “I don’t care why you’re doing it, but-”
“You!” One of the ones in the front yelled, a hulking brute with sloppy augmentation that had made him very top-heavy, and also made him very recognizable from this morning. That and the lime-green shirt and blue trousers. Probably the leader, being the only one with a sign of biosculpting. “You made a deal with Holmsteader to stay fucking out of Glee Street, so stay out or we’ll make you-fuck!”
His kneecap shattered, my bullet punching a hole through bone. Bone crunched and flesh tore. Too much weight on an already early strained lower body did the rest of the work, sending him crashing to the ground. My revolver bucked in my hands as they went on the ground, an ugly snap echoing across the street.
“No, thank you,” I said over his pained screams, moving my revolver’s aim to another of Holmsteader’s crew, who froze. Their own guns were half-drawn now but still not clear enough to take the risk. I did let my muzzle wander up and down the line. The best way to stop someone from thinking they could draw while my gun was aimed somewhere else. “I do have some standards. Consider that a down payment for the window you smashed.”
“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Another of Holmsteader’s goons yelled at me, her hands still buried in…a suit that looked like the same wallpaper from the last time I visited Glee street.
The hells was wrong with these people? Not only affording clothes, but ones this strange?
“Right now?” I said. “Deciding to interfere in something I probably shouldn’t. Now, as I was saying before I was interrupted-”
“You shot my leg you fucking bit-”
Click went my hammer getting cocked back as I moved the muzzle to point right at his head.
“Second time,” I said coldly. “I will waste a bullet on making sure it’s not a third. You can scream, but keep the insults to a minimum. Now. As I was saying?”
No one seemed interested in interrupting me now. A few hands had crept closer to weapons while my gun was trained on their downed companion, but those shrank back as I returned my aim to them.
“While I can understand being frustrated with either of the gentlemen between you,” I said. “Why exactly did you decide to beat up a priest in the middle of the street?”
“He ain’t no priest,” One of them scoffed. “He ain’t got no white robes, didn’t try burning us with light, ain’t got no symbol of Halspus even in his knickers. He swore, he drank, he even spent a night with Yvette and Frank, and made it very clear what he is. He’s just some rich noble’s brat who asks the wrong kinds of questions.”
“Okay,” I said. “Release the dandy then, and maybe look up the word pantheon and spend some time thinking on it. Although he does raise a good point Gregory, no holy light to save you?”
Gregory groaned, whether from the pain or me asking a question, I couldn’t tell.
“Didn’t want to hurt them,” he slurred, words mangled by his beat-up face and jaw.
“Right, sonny, that’s why you tried boxing with us,” one of the others said with a laugh. “Be grateful your friend here ain’t as bad at it as you are. As for you, why don’t you just fucking sail back to where you came from? Things are bad enough out here without people like you-”
I knew they were testing me to see how far I could take my bluff. Not shooting the one on the ground made it seem like I wouldn’t go too far with this. And a wound, that was preferable to death.
I made this one hurt.
My bullet flew forward, ramming into the thick, meaty part of the thigh, causing blood to spurt as the thug screamed, hands going to the spurting hole. I’d missed. I meant for it to smash the leg.
“All of you get running except for the one on the ground,” I told them. “You have a very short window to get him treatment in case I severed an artery. I’d suggest cutting off the blood flow where the thigh meets the leg. Just leave the other one I shot.”
I was lying. A little. He would eventually bleed out, but nowhere near that fast. The group took advantage of this thought, grabbing the other knocked-out member and hurrying off, their fallen ‘friend’ screaming insults and vitriol at them as they fled.
“Oh, hush,” I told him, stepping towards him. “I just want to talk. Gregory, Tolman, are you alright?”
My tone was as if I’d asked about the weather, so I didn’t blame answers for taking a little while to come.
“I’m alright,” Tolman said. “Mr. Montague here though..”
No longer being held up by his attackers, Gregory had collapsed into the snow. Glancing back, Jones and Marat were still at the cart, either having decided to stick things out with me or frozen in shock. Probably the former, you didn’t do the latter too often, and live in the Quarter.
I reached inside my coat, pulling out a small flask. “Jones, Marat, do me a favor and bring Gregory over by the cart and give him a little of this. It’ll take the edge off the pain and accelerate the healing process a little. Tolman, can you-”
Tolman was one step ahead of me, resetting Gregory’s nose with a crack that made the bard yelp in pain.
“Excellent, thank you.”
“Malvia, what are you doing here?” Tolman asked me as Jones and Marat moved up, Marat taking the flask from my hand.
“We can discuss that later,” I said tonelessly. “If we discuss anything at all. Limited clock Tolman, so if you don’t mind-”
I had made it to Holmsteader’s thug by now, just outside of easy lunging distance, gun trained on him. He glared at me, eyes full of hatred. Definitely wanted to kill me. He’d have to get a place in line first.
“Ooh, that is bad,” I said, gesturing towards his leg. Bent the entirely wrong way and blood was dribbling all over the snow. “I had a wound like this not that long ago. Nasty thing to try and recover from. Luckily, I can help with a potion, if you’re willing to talk a little.”
He didn’t seem very impressed. Fair enough, I didn’t cut the most imposing figure. And this was pretty transparent, but cut me some slack. I had minutes before his ‘friends’ came back with reinforcements.
“Listen, I didn’t come here to get involved in whatever conflict you have with these two,” I said, gesturing to where Gregory was being fed from the flask and Tolman stood. “By the way, only a third of it! He shouldn’t need more than that. Now, I’m here for information, and I’m not likely to leave until I get it. And as you can see, I can be a destructive little nuisance.”
A flat unimpressed stare at that statement. I guess I hadn’t done too much to back that up yet.
“Listen,” I said. “I’m not in the mood to play games. Twenty seconds and then you get shot in the head. Do you understand?”
No response, just that stare with some thinned lips, contempt blazing out of his eyes.
“Well,” I said. “That’s a shame, because now I’m going to have to shoot the other knee.”
“Malvia,” Tolman said. “You got time for this? Because I don’t, and I’m not holding a pistol for you. I’m also not eager to watch you waste time leaning on that leg til it snaps.”
Behind him, Gregory winced, and I stared blankly at Tolman for a few seconds. Pushing me. Why? Some game of Versalicci’s? No, no gain from it. Of little importance anyway.
“I wasn’t talking to you. Marat?”
She hesitated, clearly not that interested in potentially getting further in Holmsteader’s bad graces.
“Thirty pounds if it’s needed,” I said, and up went the firearm.
“Enough,” the brusier snapped, panting from the pain. “Just give me the damn potion, and I’ll answer what you ask!”
A little faster than I liked, but I couldn’t argue with efficiency.
“Potion later,” I said, gesturing to his broken leg. “I’ll need to take care of this first. Does anyone have a stick?”
Impromptu gag so he didn’t bite his tongue off in place, and then I got to work searing this shut. I took off the glove, then made a production of pouring some water on my hand.
“This will sting a little,” I told him as I moved it towards his knee. “It’ll burn, and it’ll hurt, but it will stop the bleeding.”
Most of my diabolism was gone, slowly rebuilding. Just enough for a flame and a trick. And internalizing this small amount of Diabolism shouldn’t have any real effect on me.
I let black flames coat my hand, a thin enough coat that Holmsteader’s man couldn’t see from this angle, and the snow obscured it from anyone else looking. I pressed my hand against his knee, letting the flames burn the wounds shut.
I wasn’t just cauterizing it as I let black flame burn the bleeding wounds. I was leaving a small bit of diabolism embedded within. It would dissolve over time, harmlessly in an Infernal’s body. But it was my power, and I would be able to sense it. And do other things with it. Just a little insurance.
The wound sealed shut as the thug screamed, letting everyone within a few blocks know we were here.
“Oh, hush,” I said. “Try having to not make a sound while a rat is gnawing its way through your leg sometime. That was painful.”
“You made my fucking leg snap!” He screamed.
“Yes,” I admitted, as I removed my hand, leaving his knee cauterized. “Maybe consider your words-”
He lunged at me, a hand as big as my head going for my throat. I flared flames, unhappy about having to kill him, but I’d left that opening for a reason.
My tail got in the way, knife clutched and plunging into his open palm.
A fresh yell of pain as I looked at my tail in mild shock. I hadn’t even…maybe there were some advantages to this arrangement after all.
“Well now,” I said. “That was rather dumb.”
The thug tried to pull away, but my tail wrapped around his wrist, dragging him closer. I yanked the knife out of his palm, and he cursed, moved to punch me and-
Click went the hammer on Marat’s flintlock. She’d run up after the sudden attempt to punch me. Now she was five feet away, pistol pointed at his chest.
“I’d reconsider any more attempts like that,” I said. “As one of your victims pointed out, time is ticking, and we are on a very tight clock. If I really need to you, I will bundle you up, throw you in the cart, and let the tender mercy of the rough Quarter streets on that knee do my work for me. Now, unless there are any more pointless efforts at dragging this out til your ‘friends’ come back with help, I want to know if Holmsteader is currently on Glee street??”
“You can’t believe I’d tell you-fuck!” The thug screamed as I put more pressure on the wound. “Yes! She’s out on business!”
“Good,” I said simply, getting back up.
He was lying, of course. Even if torture was accurate, it didn’t happen this fast. I just wanted to leave the wrong impression. Holmsteader would expect me to go after something on Glee Street, not something outside.
This wasn’t perfect, of course. Nowhere near enough time to make this real, but there wasn’t enough time. And she’d realize soon enough. But it would hopefully buy enough time.
I left him on the ground. As much as I wanted to not lose face by not following up on those threats, antagonizing Holmsteader likely wasn’t worth it. Not unless I wanted to add a street gang to my list of troubles. Honestly, wasted time, since we’d be heading there anyway, but it had been worth a shot.
“Shoot him if he tries coming after us,” I told Marat, then headed back towards the cart. My tail grabbed a handkerchief and used it to wipe my blade clean. Jones was supporting Gregory, who clearly couldn’t stand under his own power. Tolman was keeping a respectable distance from the cart, as he should.
“Jones, load up Mr. Montague,” I told him. “We’re taking him with us.”
Gregory tried to say something through swollen and split lips.
“Don’t bother protesting it,” I told him, reaching out and using my thumb to wipe some of the blood off his chin, making him freeze. “I know you aren’t going to blast me with Light, and if you don’t do that, I win, every time.”
I finished slowly wiping the blood up to his split lip, and someone coughed awkwardly. What? It had been bothering me.
“Jones, when we set off, try to keep it as steady as you can manage?”
Probably not that steady, but the best we could manage on uneven Quarter roads. The snow may actually help.
Marat went to help Jones, both of them needed to help get Gregory into the back of the cart. Which left me alone with Tolman, the tall Infernal still bearing the brawler’s body I’d crafted for him way back when. My payment for joining their way out, crafted out of a much smaller, daintier form. I still remember him nearly breaking my back when he’d come to in their current body, happy to finally be who he wanted. Who he’d been.
Pity it all had to be marred by suspicion and distrust, but that was the Quarter for you. You always had to head into things expecting the knife in the back. Maybe if I had gone into the Flame or my mess with Skall knowing that I would have come out the other end fine-
I breathed out. No. Gripping that mask too tightly. I told myself I’d try being looser with it, but it was easier around Voltar and Dawes. I had some fondness for Dr. Dawes but it was easier to allow some openness around Voltar. There was no closeness to cause a sense of loss if I ever got bit over it. Those fangs would only sink skin-deep in his case.
The silence continued as I tried to figure out something, but luckily Tolman spoke up first.
“So?” Tolman said, tone curious as the thug screamed and cursed my name from the ground.
I glanced down the street. No one there. Yet. It wouldn’t be long, not this close to Glee Street.
Any amount of suspicion was too much for me to think of ever trusting him again, not right now. But leaving him here was so many steps too far.
“Get in the cart,” I said curtly.
***
Soon after we left, horns started sounding.
Glee street horns, usually used as part of a celebration, now clearly as some kind of communicative instrument. It meant we were taking a long route on the outskirts of Holmsteader’s territory to find another route to Tyler’s house.
We’d covered Gregory up with a hat, just to try and hide the fact that he wasn’t an Infernal. The torn and shredded nature of his clothing was not helping with that.
I had been doing my level best to ignore the tattered state of Gregory’s clothing, but something about the way his body looked kept catching my eye. It wasn’t just the fact he’d clearly been working out…a lot actually, in order to have suddenly gained this much. He’d always had a lean build with some definition, but as my gaze fell on a gap in the clothing, it was clear…
I shook my head, trying to chase those thoughts out of my head. I could find some well-muscled hook-up I had absolutely no feelings about later to take care of this. I was not going to turn into some novel protagonist who half-melted on the dark, mysterious stranger’s words. The idea was laughable! Gregory was far too harmless to be a dark, mysterious stranger.
“So, what exactly did I stumble onto?” I asked, looking between two faces trying their best to be blank of emotions. “Besides, both of you were beaten up when you shouldn’t have been. Seriously, Gregory, fisticuffs? Did you also slap them in the face with a glove?”
“You weren’t there,” Gregory said, expression darkening. “I’m not going to burn people just for being in the way, and when they dragged us all out, I didn’t want to hurt Tolman.”
“Ah, yes,” I said, eyeing Tolman. “You two know each other. Let’s just start from the beginning, and before we get to Tyler’s house.”
“Tyler’s house?” Gregory asks, raising an eyebrow. “No offense, but why would we want to return there? I’m sure his home has its charms if you enjoy the smell of rotting corpses?”
Tolman opened his mouth, probably to ask what that meant, when my tail went up and slapped him across the face. Snarling, I reeled the offending limb back.
“Ignore it,” I said quickly. “It’s perhaps a bit too rambunctious.”
Tolman’s eyes narrowed. “Malvia, I’ve known you for years, and you have never had your tail do something you don’t want-“
“It nearly was chopped off,” I told him. “And I crossed some things the wrong way trying to fix it.”
“Chopped off?” Gregory asked me, eyes widening. “What happened yesterday?”
I caught myself before I started explaining.
“Yesterday later,” I said. “How did you two end up being dragged out of Glee street by a dozen of Holmsteader’s thugs for a beatdown lesson?”
The two traded glances, that trickle of blood heading down Gregory’s chin again. I cut down the instinct to wipe it again. Just irritation at how my craftswomanship hadn’t worked. It should have stopped the bleeding.
“I needed to make some inquiries about Father Reginald’s dealings with Donald Tyler,” Gregory said. “Something doesn’t make sense regarding them. The…”
His words died as he realized who we were talking around, eyes flickering between Tolman, Jones, and Marat.
“And like that,” Tolman said solemnly. “Our newly formed friendship dies a swift death. Need to know?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I said, grinning maliciously. “I think either me or Gregory would get a slit throat from the involved parties. And what a pretty throat would be slit if he blabbed.”
A cough came from the front of the wagon. “Hey, boss, can we get a raise?”
“Why?”
“For having to listen to this?”
“Drive the damn cart.”
“I was following up on Father Reginald’s dealings,” Gregory said. “It seems strange for him to be dealing with Tyler when the entire nature-”
“I get the picture,” I said, frowning. Why had Father Reginald, whose existence as a diabolist was supposed to be a secret from everyone, been dealing in Diabolism reagents with a Glee Street lieutenant? It made no sense.
“Did you find an answer?” I asked him.
“No,” he admitted sheepishly. “My charms availed me not, because apparently, after you killed him, Holmsteader got the descriptions of everyone involved and circulated them. Including the two in the front of the cart. Jones and Marat, right?”
“Can we get a raise for that?”
“No. Keep driving.”
“I sat down,” Gregory continued, ”waited for the clerk, next thing I know I’m being forced out and half a dozen Infernals are trying to beat me up.”
“So you decided to box them,” I said, and bit my lip to stop a giggle from coming out til I felt it draw blood. Gregory and Tolman both stared, but neither commented.
“And that’s when I met Mr. Tolman, who came to my aid,” Gregory said, and fool that it was, my heart lifted up a little bit. Ah, that wouldn’t have had any time to trade stories about me. Good. “And yes, we boxed them because I wasn’t going to char flesh. Well, I was going to, but by then I wasn’t really….mobile.”
“He’s lying a little,” Tolman said. “We chatted a bit before they started dragging him out.”
“Ah,” I said curtly. “Why were you there, Tolman?”
“Do I have to say?” He asked me, gaze meeting mine. “My impression was you wanted nothing to do with me, correct?”
“She gave me that impression to,” Gregory said to him lightly, and something inside me snapped.
“Do not frame that like I started that conversation hostile,” I snapped, and both of them tensed as my tail writhed along the floor of the cart. “Do. Not.”
“Okay,” Gregory said quietly, backing a little bit away.
“Tolman,” I said. “My feelings on you have trailed me for Versalicci this entire time, don’t matter at this moment. What does matter is why you were in Glee Street?”
Tolman hesitated, weighing what it would mean to speak up versus keeping quiet.
“Looking for employment,” he said, and I contained a snap about how my brother must not be paying him enough. Part of the suspected takeover by Versalicci Holmsteader fretted about?
Or it could be he didn’t work for my brother at all, had stopped the same moment I had? No, I couldn’t entertain that. It meant I’d tossed away a friendship based on nothing but lies. I couldn’t be wrong.
“Employment?” I said. “As a bouncer?”
“No,” he admitted sheepishly.
A pause, then I let out a disappointed sigh. “You tried out for the fighting pits, didn’t you?”
“I was going to try out for them,” Tolman said. “Unfortunately my tryout was pre-empted by having the save this dandy’s ass.”
Gregory coughed politely, but there was anger in those eyes I hadn’t expected. “While you did do that, I wasn’t doing too poorly.”
“If I hadn’t helped out, you’d be coughing up your spleen,” Tolman said.
“Not anatomically possible,” I said with a grin. “But I bet they would have tried. For right now, I’ll accept it, Tolman. Assuming additional evidence doesn’t show up.”
“So then,” Gregory said. “What were you doing in Glee Street Malvia?”
“Hrrm,” I said, leaning back and smiling. “None of your concern. Since I didn’t need rescuing, I will keep my motivations to myself.”
The two of them looked at me, unimpressed, but I didn’t let that impact me.
“Is she always like this?” Gregory asked Tolman.
“A spiteful little shite?” He replied. “On occasion.”
I stretched back, letting the words melt off me. “Pettiness doesn’t become either of you, and besides, I’m spiteful? Whose the one who said I’d bite into an infant to get what I wanted?”
Gregory composure fell apart a little at that, while Tolman simply grinned.
“Well, if anyone spent-”
“No,” I said angrily, and for once, someone stayed quiet. “No, they should not. I don’t care if you think I’m a torture happy freak who doesn’t value life at all, you do not get to toss around accusations of me eating fucking infants. And if you’re going to, do it to my face instead of addressing it to others to try and get me kicked off by this.”
Gregory was at a loss for words, and I continued to press.
“It’s how I know what you say is an act,” I told him bluntly. “Act as nicely as you want Lord Montague to my face, while stabbing me in the back? At the end of the day, the distance between you and your father is so very close.”
His face turned red, and anger glowed within, but I didn’t give him a chance to speak.
“Does that make you angry? Good, because imagine how it feels when accusations like that are tossed in your face!”
“You tortured one of my friends,” Gregory said darkly. “I think there’s a bit of distance between me being upset with that and you comparing me to him.”
“I threatened your friend to solve the case threatening to kill your family,” I snapped back. “In a situation where it was either that or miss key information. Information that we used to put together why they were doing it. So I’m sorry that your friend got some of my teeth cutting through their skin. In the grand scheme of things, it’s a very minor price compared to what others paid for that mess.”
Gregory stiffened, almost said something, then seemed to sigh and shrink on himself a little.
“Is there a point to this?”
“Clearing the air,” I said spitefully. “I know we already cleared working together on this, but frankly? I said I was fine working with you. The reverse? You want to make a statement on that.”
Nothing, and so I swung my attention to Tolman instead.
“Tolman,” I said more tiredly. “I don’t have anything concrete, but do I need anything? When practically every time we met after Golvar confronted me, there was a suggestion to go see Versalicci to ‘straighten this up’. How long did you think til I started questioning that?”
Tolman remained silent.
“No defense of yourself?”
“What defense could I make,” Tolman said “that would convince you I was telling you the truth Malvia?”
I paused. “No, I guess, there isn’t.”
“Not to interrupt this little ol’ airing of hate,” Jones said from the front. “But Tyler’s street is the next turn. You want me to make it?”
“Wait,” I said, listening closely. Not a lot of noise all around, but still some. With one exception, the street around the corner. Normally, that would be good, it would mean fewer guards at Tyler’s house. But there was no noise at all from that direction. There should at least be the normal traffic of the day coming that way. Instead, nothing.
“Something’s wrong,” I said, leaping over the cart’s side. Immediately, my hands grasped its side to keep me stable as my legs shook. The healing I’d done on my injuries was too recent to keep my strength. I waited til my legs were stable once more to start walking towards the corner.
“Anyone who wants to come and can keep quiet, out of the cart.”
Three soft crunches as Marat, Tolman, and Gregory all landed in the snow. Jones stayed on, hesitating a little bit.
“Stay with the cart,” I advised. “Don’t want anyone stealing it.”
He nodded, probably relieved to have an excuse to stay.
We made it to the corner, and I held up a hand. The others stopped as I crept around, brining the entire street into sight.
Including the burnt down ruins of Donald Tyler’s house.
Comments
UnderwhelmingBird
what a power move, threatening statements while wiping blood off his chin. that's...oof. im glad im sitting or my legs would be weak. Malvia is danger in a clearly labeled box, yet I find myself entertaining those irrational thoughts. She's gotta be real tuckered out from all the non-sleeping and hurting and healing and diabolism-ing, so I wonder if she'll be able to appreciate Holmie's ability to facilitate a controlled burn without burning down half the neighborhood. Assuming it *was* her organization. Glad I've got another bit and a few to collect myself and reaffirm that Malvia emphasizes the 'danger' in dangerously hot, and would be better served by a dozen consecutive naps in a safe place than for someone to indulge in naughty-tinged intimacy. That means hugs are on the table, folks, so volunteers please fill out a time slot. We'll see if we can get pre-nap hugs settled on the itinerary. On a different note, I'm interested to learn more about the harmlessly processed diabolism that was mentioned. Are the permanent shifts only semi-permanent? Or is it a threshold kind of thing, and over a certain concentration permanent shifts get locked in? Thanks for the chapter as always :)
Lecture Filler
Some generational hate fucking is brewing
