Will

After a somewhat productive conversation with Buck, Will went to fill Sam in on the specifics of what would be happening. She was helping Buck's people pack their supplies onto the wagons alongside a few of the chimps. It was strange, knowing in the back of his head where to find her even without scanning for her with Detect. She was always there now, in the back of his head. There was something comforting about that.

"That shirt looks a little small on you," he joked as he pulled her aside. "I ought to have a word with your tailor."

"I don't mind it being a little snug," Sam replied with an impish grin as she put the backs of her hands together and flexed her corded forearms. "Gotta show off these guns somehow, right?"

"It's not so much your arms I'm worried about." Stepping close, he began to lace up her tunic—his tunic—to close up some of the cleavage she was showing. "You need to remember that you're not flat as a board anymore."

She frowned at his working fingers for a moment, but that annoying grin quickly returned; even wider than before. "Aww, you're jealous! You don't want some other fella to catch an eyeful of this, huh?"

"Yes," Will admitted, and hissed at the clumsiness of his new right hand as he struggled to get the strings through the collar loops. "I'm jealous. That make you happy?"

"Heehee—you know it does."

"Brat."

"Sexy brat, though." She put her hand on his, stroking his left ring finger for a moment with her thumb before prying him away to do the lacing-up herself. "Don't even try to deny it, either. I'm in your damn head, bud."

Will just shrugged. She was right—there was no use arguing the point. It didn't seem like the True Bond would let them read each other's thoughts, exactly, but he could parse her emotions—although they were a little fuzzy—and to some extent even feel her body as an extension of his own.

The last part was probably the trippiest aspect so far.

At any given time, her main emotion appeared to be 'hungry', and right now was no different. With a shallow sigh, he said: "You have breakfast?"

"Yup!"

"Want second breakfast?"

"Yup!"

"Let's go then."

He looked up Joe over by the tents to pilfer some leftover ingredients, then went back to the farmhouse to cook for Sam. He only had a few bites for himself, but still found the meal unusually pleasant. He'd found joy in cooking since arriving on the Frontier, but he'd never been a big eater. It always just seemed like a lot of work, all that chewing and such, just to get dozy and unpleasantly full. But now that he could feel for himself how much satisfaction Sam took from shoveling all that food down, it brought an extra layer of motivation to cook for her.

"So I talked to Buck about the whole 'liberating the slaves' thing," he said while watching her inhale a sausage. "I'm guessing you're good to go on that whenever?"

Sam nodded, taking another bite before she had finished chewing down the sausage. "Yurp," she mumbled around the food.

"Good, because I convinced him to move up the operation to today."

Sam swallowed hard and wiped her mouth on her forearm. "Okay, no problem. But uh, aren't people gonna be all hungover and shit?"

Will scoffed. "The militia's full of Laborers—they can tank a little alcohol poisoning. Point is, after Buck's little announcement yesterday, the sooner this emancipation can happen the better. Give the merchant's guild any amount of time to get their ducks in a row, and they'll find a way to wriggle out from under all this. Like buying up all the ships left in the harbor to start shipping their merchandise to friendlier ports."

"Right."

"It's going to be a multi-stage operation. The militia's going to hit several targets at once—the Cliffside finance quarter, select Topside mansions, slaver towers along the Shore, the flesh markets, and finally the mines. That last one represents the biggest part of the operation, since the majority of Sheerhome's slaves are kept there. Detachments sent to other parts of the city will regroup at the mines once they've done their part to lend additional support."

"Cool. So can I—"

"You can go to the mines, Sam, yes." He nodded and cracked an indulgent smile. "That's what you want, right? Be where the action is?"

Sam let out a contented sigh. "Ah, you know me so well." She dove back into her meal and spoke through her chewing. "So… what's the deal… with the mines? Am I gonna have to punch a motherfucker… or two?"

"Remains to be seen. There's a lot of taskmasters up there keeping the slaves in line, and they can definitely put up a fight if push comes to shove. On the other hand, Buck's going to be hitting the merchant's guild personally to talk things out with them, so if they can come to an agreement then in theory they'll make the taskmasters stand down and let you all through."

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"How much chance is there of that happening?"

"I don't know, fifty-fifty? But let's assume a worst-case scenario, just so you're prepared for anything."

Sam finished her food, licked the plate clean, and let it clatter on the table. "Cool. So what's the worst-case scenario?" She stifled a burp with her fist. "I beat up some slavers?"

"More or less. Let me give you the layout real quick. Sheerhome has two iron mines located in the foothills outside the city, spaced a few miles apart from each other. Wurmhole West and Wurmhole East, so called because their tunnels link up in the middle.

"The taskmasters running things over there are mostly set up in the East, so that's where Buck's efforts will be concentrated. The guy in charge is called Pit Boss Gorebag."

"Gorebag! Whahahat the fuck?" Sam guffawed.

"Yes, that's what they call him. Now, I need you to listen to me very closely, all right?"

"Mmhmm."

"Are you listening?" He snapped his fingers in front of her face.

She hissed and slapped his hand away. "Yes, yes, I'm listening."

"Good. I've never had the displeasure of meeting this Gorebag fellow, but I hear he's a real twisted son of a bitch. Like, strangling puppies, hunting homeless people for sport kinda twisted. He's Level 15, meaning he's got a semblance, and he's supposed to be an absolute monster in a fight. The taskmasters treat their slaves like dogs, run them to death in those black pits, force them to work around the corpses of their comrades, but they don't have much problem with revolts because they've got Gorebag as a deterrent. Whenever the slaves give them issue, he goes down into the Wurmhole himself to root them out. He's a Laborer, and supposedly so tough he's nearly indestructible, so there might be a divine vow involved there.

"All that to say he's experienced, he's ruthless, and he's strong." Will reached across the table and gave Sam's chest two firm pokes. "I'm sending backup with you on this—Griff, Wesley, Serene, Hacksaw, even that Francine lady. I want you to make use of them. Do not, I repeat, do not fight Gorebag alone. Understood?"

"Got it," Sam replied.

"Promise me, Sam."

"I promise."

"Say the words."

"I promise not to fight this Gore-guy on my own, okay? Pinky-dinky promise."

Will stared her down with his blind eye over the rim of his glasses, just to make her squirm a little. Once he felt reasonably confident she was telling the truth, he nodded and said: "All right. In that case, I feel fine sending you off. I'd come with you, but in my current state I think I'd just slow you down."

"Don't beat yourself up over that." She sounded unusually serious. "I'm glad you're finally taking care of yourself. Just stay here and rest up, yeah? Otherwise, you won't need to beat yourself up—I'll beat your ass for you, no doubt about it."

He gave a chuckle at that. "Yes, ma'am."

After giving her a bit more of a run-down on the operation, focused largely on the pit boss and his lieutenants and the layout of the Wurmhole itself, he let her run along to resume her work on the packing. He reckoned the sooner those people could get underway, the bigger the chance of the operation being a success. And also, he had just one more person he needed to talk to…

"Crow," he said quietly, almost a whisper, once he was alone in the kitchen. "You still around?"

"You rang?" The reply was almost instant, coming uncomfortably close to his ear.

Will resisted the urge to turn around. He was glad for the fact that his busted sense of smell only gave the vaguest tickle of stale sweat and sour alcohol wafting off the woman. "I appreciate the assistance last night." She'd been up in the sky during the grinner attack like some avenging angel, slinging those cards around and braining most of the monsters before they even got close to the farm. Luckily, it seemed like no one had clocked her, either. He had to admit, she was damn good at concealing her presence when she wanted to be. The only reason he'd noticed her at all was because he'd known what to look out for—namely, the countless tentacles of skill effects she sent out around her at all times, even that nearly perfectly hidden.

Crow gave a drunk, unpleasantly loud laugh. "Shit, I was trying to get my freak on—wasn't about to let some little critters ruin it for me."

"Yes, how did you like your time with Griff?"

"Oh, such a cutie, that one. I would've liked another couple inches of meat on that boy—I'm pretty flexible, you know?—but I can't complain, all things considered. Hell, I might just go back for seconds next time I hit up Sheerhome."

"Glad to hear it."

"Hey, I like your glasses." She put her butt up on the table and plucked them off his face. It took a great amount of effort not to do anything about it. She put them on for herself, wrinkling her nose as she tried to get them to sit right. "Yeah, very cute. You're like a little baby mob boss or something with these."

"Funny," Will replied flatly.

She pushed the shades up with her index finger. "You mind if I keep 'em?"

"Go right ahead."

"Nahhh, just kidding! I wouldn't cramp your style like that." She snapped her fingers, and suddenly the glasses were back on his face. With a low groan, she hopped to her feet, a click-click of wood on wood as her clogs met the tabletop. "Anyway, I promised I'd get out of your hair, so I'm gonna go ahead and head out now. It's been fun—really, just a riot."

Will held up two fingers. "Hold on. Before you go, I'd appreciate any information you can give me on the Omen Bearers."

Crow clicked her heels together and folded her arms under her breasts. "I thought that was what all the torturin' was about?"

"I got some intel from that, but not enough. I figure you'll know more."

"Nah. You can hustle for yourself. It wouldn't be good to spoil you guys."

"Come on…"

Crow folded at the waist, bending almost in half as she lowered her face right down until they were almost bumping foreheads. "I'll give you one little hint. Wanna hear it?"

"Please."

"Keep your eyes on the sky."

"What's that—"

"See you kids reeeal soon. Don't disappoint me."

Crow vanished into thin air.

Will sat there for a while, thinking, then shook his head and fought against his bad leg to get to his feet. Eyes on the sky. Make it a little more cryptic for me, why don't you?

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