"You ain't my lawyer."

A self-evident statement, seeing how there's no way anyone could ever mistake Milton Tremont as a lawyer even if they'd never met him before. This smug, slimy, snake of a politician got the look of a man who ain't worked a day in his life, hard or otherwise. It's ingrained in the lacking definition in his features and the slack faced expression he wears which he thinks makes him look cultured, not to mention the stodgy pudge of his fingers that ain't used for anything more strenuous than lifting his silver spoon. Lawyers be sharp as a tack, whereas Milton is all rounded flab in body, mind, and spirt, so much so I suspect he'd have trouble finding his own ass with both hands and a map.

Course, I ain't saying this for my benefit. It's for his benefit and for the recording that's legally mandated in these interrogation rooms, because I done been arrested and asked for my lawyer. That means I ain't allowed to be questioned without my lawyer present, except Sheriff Beauregard ain't even asked for my lawyer's name just yet, making this appearance from the Alderman dubious at best and technically illegal if he starts questioning me.

Which Milton Tremont ought to know, except he don't seem to care. Nor does the Deputy who walked him to the door of the interrogation room, or Ranger Mercer who takes his post outside to make sure don't no one disturb the Alderman as the fat man takes a seat across the able from me. Man's feeling awful sure of himself now that I've been arrested, but he should've had Ranger Mercer double check things before coming in. This interrogation room would never pass muster back in New Hope, as the Sheriff would have a conniption from seeing this shoddy work. Yeah, they got me chained to a sturdy wooden table, but the legs of said ain't bolted to the floor. I could easily use it as a battering ram to slam this fool into the wall and do a good bit of damage in the process. What's more, I've only got the one arm cuffed to the anti-magic manacles, seeing how there ain't no way to cuff my stump. Not easily at least, so even though a Deputy bound my right forearm to the left with some rope, I done already slipped it free before sliding it back in so no one would be the wiser.

That ain't all either. Even though Sheriff Beauregard of Ashbend put on a big dog and pony show arresting me at the docks, he didn't actually have me processed when we got back to his office. Didn't ask for no documents, file no paperwork, or take any mugshots or fingerprints to go with the non-existent arrest report. I got searched, yeah, but they didn't take nothing besides my duster, belt, and boot laces before securing me in this hot box of an interrogation room to leave me to sweat. That means I still got my Metamagic bead bracelet, which I been telling folks I wear for religious reasons just to fuck with them. Also got a length of wire embedded in my pants pocket, one I can extract with minimal finagling to use as a lockpick should I ever need one.

Did it for all my pants after the Sheriff told me I'd be clapped in manacles every time I visit. While I don't plan on going back, I like to plan for any and all contingencies, and you never know when you gotta get outta some anti-magic manacles right quick. Not that I'm all that practiced at picking locks, much less with only the one hand. I understand the theory behind it, as Uncle Raleigh and my daddy both showed me how it's done. Sometimes the bad guys do be hiding behind locked doors after all, so better to know and not need than the other way around.

Problem is, my preferred lockpick comes in the form of a Blastgun, which'll take out the lock, the door, part of the wall, and anyone standing behind it for good measure, and if that don't work, a hammer is a close second. All locks do is keep honest people honest, and maybe give you a bit of extra warning if someone like me rolls up on you. Then again, there's something to be said for subtlety, so might be I should practice some more. Especially since it looks like the anti-magic manacles used by all Sheriffs this side of the divide are standardized, as these manacles are the exact same ones I wore in New Hope and also the ones took off of Sheriff Lesser in Silver Summit and got stashed in my weapons lockbox on the ship.

So if I really, really, wanted to, I could've already set myself free and laid a good dozen punches into Milton's stupid punchable face before Ranger Mercer stepped in to stop me. More in fact, as someone slides the deadbolt into place to secure the only door to the tiny, cramped room. Probably for dramatic effect, letting me know I'm locked up tight with nowhere to run. Unfortunately for Milton, I ain't got no reason to sweat, not that he even left me any time to, as he done showed up mere minutes after I was brung in. Already knew this arrest had no teeth, as Sheriff Beauregard's lackadaisical efforts showed he ain't inclined to even try to make it stick, and now I know why.

Because it wasn't a real arrest, or at least wasn't intended to ever be one. They got a warrant that would never hold up in court, but executed it anyways to scare me into compliance. Idiots. Still, I'd only be making trouble for myself if I beat Milton bloody, so I content myself with just imagining it as I give him a slow, toothy smile that's got him rethinking his decision to come in here alone.

Man's got confidence in spades though, so I gotta give him props for that, even if he got no real reason for it. Only falters a tick before glancing at my chains and deciding he's safe as can be and goes back to holding his head up high like he done accomplished something worth bragging about. Teeth bared in an ugly smile, he tents his sausage fingers and leans in to say, "Well then young man. Last we spoke, you were rather curt and dismissive, so while I regret the necessity, I saw fit to arrange things so you could understand the severity of the situation."

Man is beside himself with delight, even though he ain't done nothing of note besides annoy me a little bit, so I don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I just sit, smile, and stare while waiting for him to go on, which he don't like much. Ain't no fun poking the hornets' nest if them hornets don't play along after all. Course, that only encourages him to stir things up a little more as he explains exactly what he done just in case I missed it. "The safety of the Ah-merican people working on the Eastern front is a top priority," he declares, with all the earmarks of a rehearsed speech. Don't no one rattle off like he do, with emphasis on 'American' like it's a ten-dollar word and a hard note on top to really stress how important it be. Man's got a voice for radio, and a face and figure to match, but I don't see any reason to interrupt him while he's showing all his cards.

Got a whole bunch of figures regarding the new towns going up, like number of deaths, injuries, and stolen goods, numbers he wields like a hammer to reinforce my suspicion that he's rehearsed all this before. "Then there's the element of human suffering," he adds, after telling me exactly what them Qin raids have cost the American people, even though it's mostly non-Americans doing all the work. "Something we can never put a price on. Action must be taken to put an end to these raids, and a joint task force with the Republic is our best option moving forward." Jabbing a sausage finger in my direction, he gives what he thinks is a fierce snarl and adds, "For whatever reason, the delegates have made it clear that no cooperation will be possible without your presence, so whether you agree or not is irrelevant. You will return to the Eastern Front to take your place on the task force, or I will see to it that you are charged with treason, espionage, and anything else I think might stick."

Heaving a bored little sigh, I sink back in my chair without ever taking my eyes off of him. I don't say nothing, just sit, stare, and yawn a little bit because he ain't no real cause for concern. Milton's all hat and no cattle, because I cannot, by definition, be charged with treason seeing how I ain't an American citizen. Beating charges of espionage would be tricksier, but seeing how I ain't ever had any information worth knowing to share, I don't see how they could make any charges stick in a court of law. That ain't an issue though, as I got bigger troubles ahead, and Milton here be the least of my worries. Much like the rat-faced fuck who pointed his gun at me last December and died in the recent Harpy attack, I know good and well that the Alderman here is shooting his mouth off with no actual intent to do anything about it.

No, he already done more than enough, except he don't even know it, because now that he done beaten me bloody with the stick, he throws some figurative dirt in my face instead of an actual carrot. "I regret the ugliness of all this," he continues, gesturing at my chains and the interrogation room we're in, "Though I believed it necessary given the severity of the issue before us, one you were all too cavalier in waving off. However, know that I will stop at nothing to see to the safety of the American people, so if you unwilling to play your part, then you will be made to." Pulling out some papers from his leather briefcase, he slides them in front of me and says, "All you need to do is agree to the terms of the Qinese delegates and accept a token role as liaison in the joint task force, one that will pay you a fair government wage. Do this, and I will make this arrest go away like it never happened. I'll even help you with your pending lawsuit, and if you have any other requests, I'd be open to hear them. So… what say you?"

Rolling my eyes, I say, "I say I would like to speak to my lawyer, and you ain't him."

"Your lawyer." Milton scoffs. "And what would that accomplish? You think yourself innocent of these charges and draw strength for that, but given the circumstances, your inaction in and of itself is a betrayal of our great country, thus making you nothing if not a traitor." Which I'm sure makes sense in his idiot head, but don't none of that change the facts. I can't betray a country I don't owe allegiance to, simple as that.

Don't see why I should correct him though, so again, I say nothing and leave him hanging in the wind. He don't like that much, because in his mind, I ought to be quaking in my boots, and he can't understand why. "Do you understand the severity of what we're talking about here?" he asks, because in his mind, that's the only reason he can think of for my complete and utter disregard. "The punishment for treason and espionage is the death penalty, or at best, life imprisonment without parole. You would be stripped of all rights, your properties and assets forfeited, and sent to a maximum-security prison camp to serve out the rest of your days doing backbreaking labour. Is that what you want? For what? To avoid a job as liaison that could help save American lives and possibly even lead to future prospects?"

"Lawyer," I say, if only to break up his momentum. Then, just in case he don't understand, I spell it out slowly. "Until I have spoken to my lawyer, I will not respond to any questions or statements with anything besides a demand to do just that, and I most certainly won't be signing no papers." Flicking the pages off to the side, I look Milton dead in the eyes and say, "Now go fetch the sheriff or a deputy so I can talk to someone who actually matters."

Seems I struck a nerve, because Milton does not like being treated like he's inconsequential. Spent so long blowing smoke up his own ass he actually believes he's a real mover and shaker here on the Frontier. Might be he even is in certain circles, like when you need someone to help you with a failed health inspection or securing permits for something or the other. Useful as he might be when it comes to red tape however, this ain't no bureaucratic issue. This is my life and my reputation at stake, so he done overstepped and I got no interest in dealing with him no more, not unless it's to deliver the beat down his daddy should've given him when his wife had that bowel movement which resulted in the birth of this smarmy little shit.

And while Milton might not understand that, not in so many words, he gets the general gist of my complete and utter disdain for him and his, and that strikes a chord which turns him ugly. "You think this is a game? Make no mistake, child, I hold the power to ruin your entire life. This arrest here today? It's just a warning, a public show of what happens when you mess with me. You believe nothing will come of this because you are innocent, but let me tell you how this works. I give the word and Sheriff Beauregard will tear your little boat apart looking for evidence of wrongdoing, and even if he doesn't find anything, all you'll have left won't be fit for salvage. Then I'll send the IRS to comb through your taxes and every transaction you've ever made. They'll ask you to account for it all, every last dollar spent, Spell Core sold, and ounce of Aether purchased, then they'll make you do it again. If you can't account for every transaction you've ever made, they'll say that's proof you were paid by the Qin Republic for divulging state secrets. Doesn't matter what secrets, because we'll find something to blame on you. An attack on a settlement, a claim on resources, a delay in shipping, my people will find some way to tie it to you selling secrets. What's more, who knows what they'll find with regards to your ties to Cultists and organized crime? All of which I'll have leaked to the press as we go, so that by the time it gets to court, there won't be twelve people this side of the Divide who think you could be innocent. If even that's not enough to get you a life sentence, I'll fabricate evidence to ensure that you'll be clapped in chains for the rest of your miserable life."

Chest heaving and brow sweating, Milton settles back in his chair looking right proper spent. Rather than say anything, I slowly withdraw my right arm to wipe the spittle off my face, and Milton is so damned oblivious it takes him several seconds to realize I ain't properly secured. Freezes right up to see it, and I can see the rusty gears turning in his head as he tries to figure out his odds of getting out of his chair and over to the door before I beat him bloody. I got no interest in hurting him though, not yet at least, because there ain't nothing to be gained from it. I do shove the table when he tries to stand and trap him in his chair, because I ain't said my piece just yet.

Plus, now I know for certain the cameras ain't recording, so I'm free to speak my mind.

"Let's put a pin in this conversation for a tick," I say, standing from my chair to loom over him as I speak. "Now if you was anyone else, I'd've knocked your teeth out of your head and called it done." That makes him feel a little safer, because he thinks his title is what's staying my hand until I disabuse him of the notion. "Thing is, my lenience got nothing to do with your job title. It's more that I still think you some kind of stupid, and it ain't kind to punch down. So instead, I'mma explain somethin' to you that you appear to have missed. This arrest? This wasn't no warning. You done gone scorched earth, so even if I was inclined to, there ain't no reason for me to play ball."

"B-but if you just – "

"Shhh," I say, wincing as I hold up my right hand which ain't there no more and feeling the pain of its absence once more. To say nothing of the actual pain which flares up thanks to the reminder. "You had your turn to talk. Now it's mine. I know you think I could just take the job and it'd all be hunky dory, but you'd be wrong. I already told you it was a lose-lose proposition, and now that you've sent Sheriff Beauregard to arrest me and make a big stink about the charges, there's even less reason for me go along with. Maybe things are different around here and the news don't care much about me, but I guarantee some journo back east is gonna hear about what went down today and write up a whole front-page article about it. Obstruction of a Federal Official in the line of duty sounds real interesting too, so of course they'll dig deep and find out about the task force. Then they'll ask, 'Well why don't he want to be a part of it? Don't he want to save American lives?'. What follows will speculation that maybe I'm so cold blooded I don't care that people are dying, or maybe I'm in cahoots with the raiders and gettin' a kickback, or maybe, just maybe, I'm some Republic plant working against American interests. I can even see the headlines. 'Howie Zhu: Republic Spy', with three question marks, or maybe a question mark and an exclamation mark if the editor's feelin' cute."

Giving Milton a deadpan look, I say, "You over there talking about charging me with treason and espionage, when I already know I done been declared guilty in the court of public opinion. Don't matter what happens next. I'm never gonna beat the allegations, ones which'll follow me around until I'm old and grey even though I would sooner see the Republic burn than help them in any fucking way."

Starting to feel the same way about America, and all governments in general really. Ain't no good deed go unpunished, so why the fuck do I even try?

Milton is all googly eyed because it never occurred to him how this would play out, because he thought he could just wave his hands and make it all go away. He can't though, as the damage has already been done. "So now that we on the same page," I say, raising my chained arm and giving it a little rattle, "Let's go back to where we left off, with you threatenin' to fabricate evidence to see me clapped in chains."

So scared for his life, Milton actually whimpers to hear it, but I make no move to threaten him. Keeping my tone cordial as can be, I tell him what sort of man I am. "See, I was content to let things play out, all because of this social contract we call the 'rule of law'. What that means is if a man follows the law, then that man is afforded the protection of said laws. If not, then he will be prosecuted regardless of who he is." Shrugging, I give a little shake of my head and say, "Course, the rule of law ain't perfect. We got criminals committin' crimes in broad daylight, corrupt law enforcement lookin' the other way, and slimy, unelected politicians abusin' their power to do whatever they please." I let that hang in the air for a second, then smile and say, "On the whole though? I've thus far found that the rule of law works well enough."

Slowly and gently pushing the table, I drive it into Milton's gut until he gotta sit up straight and suck in his gut. "Until it don't of course," I say, coming to my feet to keep pushing as I stare him dead in the eyes and hold his gaze. I need him to see good and well who he's dealing with as I slowly up the pressure on the table and his belly both and drive him back an inch at a time. "And when the rule of law and the Federal Justice System fail a man, there ain't nothin' he can do except to take matters into his own hands with some good old fashioned Frontier Justice. No judge, no jury, no trial or plea bargains to be had. No hard labour either, just a date with the hangman at best, though I ain't ever been partial to hangings. Seems like a whole lot of extra work when a Bolt will do just fine, though I suppose there's something to be said about a hanging giving the convicted time to come to terms with his impendin' death and regret all the steps he took to get there."

All the while, Milton been sliding back in his chair, but I keep the pressure up and don't let him escape. Eventually, he runs out of space to slide and comes up against the back wall, and I lean in a little harder to make my next point. "So again, I am only here in this room with you because I am a man who believes in the rule of law. I think it's a great concept, and I'd like to see more of it, but I would also be the first to admit it has its failings. It can be abused, as you yourself have just threatened to do." Pushing hard and driving him back into the wall until he's wheezing, I lean forward and say, "So if you want to break the social contract, there ain't nothin' I can do to stop you, but then there won't be no reason for me to play by the rules either."

After letting that hang in the air for a hot second, I ease off the table and quietly drag it back to where we started, leaving Milton cowering in his chair against the back wall. Taking my seat once more, I slide my right arm back into the ropes and give him a shrug. "Balls in your court," I say. "So you do whatever it is you gonna do, and I'll respond in kind. This ain't a threat, a promise, or even a warning. It's just the way it is, so I want you to think long and hard about your next move. Consider the sort of man I am, the stories you done heard about me and the things people suspect I done, because if you go through with this, there will be a time when I'm free of these chains, and then the ball will be in my court, won't it?"

So whether I work within the bounds of the law or outside of them depends on what Milton does next. If he washes his hands of all this and has the Sheriff drop the charges, then I'll move on and deal with the fallout in an aboveboard manner. Lawsuits and appeals as it were, though it won't do much for me. If he goes through with his threats, then he done painted a target on his back, and I'll see to it that he pays for his sins even if it's the last thing I ever do.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Milton don't say nothing. He just sits and stares for a good minute before his brain kicks back into gear and he scurries on out. Not right away, because the door done been bolted shut from the outside, so he rattlers the handle while pounding on the door to be let out, a process that don't take more than half a second but must feel like an eternity to the Alderman who's finally figured out that he's trapped in here with me. Ranger Mercer is quick on his toes and comes in with gun drawn, but I pay him no mind as I stare at the wall across from me and wait for my lawyer while considering where to go from here.

Declaring my daddy's quay as an Independent settlement would be a start, but Mr. Tillman is still looking up the process and compiling a list of all the possible stumbling blocks to see if it's even worth the hassle. If not, then the next option is to sell all my holdings and take my money elsewhere. North I suppose, assuming the Métis will take me in, or out into the Coral Desert to join up with an established Independent settlement who might well welcome a shooter like me. Could always see if the Brits will have me, though I don't much care for them as a whole, and there's no point even trying with the French as they're not big on immigrants.

Regardless of where I go, it means saying goodbye to Chrissy, Tina, and Aunty Ray. I could still come back and visit every now and then, but we barely see enough of each other as it is, and I'm only a few hours away. What happens if I move even farther? Nothing good, that's what, and even though it'll break my heart to move away, I'm starting to think there ain't no other option. I'm sick of being treated like a criminal just for existing, and things are only gonna get worse when news of my arrest hits the papers and folks figure out I turned down an opportunity to help stop the raids happening down south. Ain't nothing for it except to keep on keeping on though, that or leaving to turn over a new leaf elsewhere.

Neither of which really appeals, but it is what it is. Milton done earned himself a Bolt for getting me into this mess, but truth of the matter is he ain't even worth the hassle. He's a fat-cat bureaucrat with his head up his ass, and won't no one care if I smack him around a little bit. If I go and shoot an Alderman though? Most Americans would see that as an attack on their sovereignty, and ain't nothing Americans like more than proving they sitting up top of the food chain. Least they did back in the old world. Not exactly sure how things measure up on the Frontier, but if the Rangers ain't at the top of the list, then they're close to it, and probably some of the best armed and best equipped to boot. Manpower might be at a shortage, but the Feds have built themselves up a sizable powerbase on this slice of the Frontier, with allies a plenty to boot.

All of which is to say that if I shoot Milton, then there won't be nowhere for me to hide on this side of the Divide. Not unless I take refuge with the Qin Republic, go begging for help from the people who ordered my daddy's death. Milton just ain't worth it. Not yet at least, so here's hoping he's smart enough to know when to call it quits.

If not? Well then I suppose it's time to go back to being the Devil again, a title I don't much care for, but fits so well all the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Staring at the burnt remnants of what was supposed to be lunch, Astrid couldn't figure out how things could've gone so wrong.

She was a licensed Alchemist for crying out loud, an accomplished one with a high success rate, higher than almost any Alchemist she knew. Harald was a workhorse who used his hyper fixation to his advantage by pumping out multiple potions at a time after studying and streamlining the process, while Daddy was a virtuoso who could come up with new potions on the fly that were often better than their counterparts. As for Mama? She had a way of reading reagents, knowing exactly what they could do and how to combine them for maximum effect, efficiency, and efficacy. The whole reason they could still compete in terms of Impact Oil was because she'd worked out how to stretch Pheonix Ashes as far as they could go, allowing them to use less of it to create a comparable or even superior product at a similar price point despite paying more than twice what their competitors were.

Which Harald took and streamlined even further before sharing his revised formula for free. Said it was the right thing to do, and their parents agreed, even though they could've made good money selling or licensing the formula instead.

Whatever. Astrid didn't stand out like the rest of her family, not when it came to Alchemy, but she had her basics down pat. So long as she was given the proper process, then she could follow through with the recipe and create a working potion nine times out of ten. She was also the best in the family at reverse engineering their competitor's products and figuring out what they were using to create their potions and how that could be twisted to their own advantage. Daddy called her the family analyst, the researcher who figured out the why to their how and a pivotal part of the team working tirelessly to come up with a permanent Polymorph potion to help Innates regain their original appearances.

She wasn't as fast as Harald, as inventive as Daddy, and she couldn't refine recipes like Mama could, but she was still a licensed Alchemist all the same. A budding Artificer too, now that she'd successfully crafted her first Automaton, so it wasn't like she was only good at Alchemy. She was reading at an advanced level, could do math faster than most merchants, and whenever one of their Alchemy machines needed fixing, she was usually the one to do it.

So why was she having so much trouble cooking a simple lunch?

Howie made it look so easy, and she copied him almost perfectly. There were fish in the traps on the side of the ship, ones he'd probably earmarked for dinner but they'd have to make do. Scaling them was a bit tricky, but Daddy knew a little bit and helped her out there, while Elodie didn't mind pulling out all the guts and grisly bits to feed to the kiccaws. Then it was just a simple matter of filleting the meat off of the bone, which wasn't as simple as she thought. Sure, her fillets were a little thin in some places and whole lot ragged in others, and she was planning to tell everyone to be careful of bones while eating. Still, it wasn't bad for a first try, and adding flour and breadcrumbs was easy enough. From there, all that was left to do was put it in a pot of hot oil and wait until the fillets were crispy golden brown just like Howie's.

Except that didn't happen. Instead, the oil bubbled over and caught fire, so she panicked and dropped a Water Sphere right on top of the flames. Which she should've known would be a disaster, seeing how water and oil don't mix, not even Conjured Ectoplasm masquerading as water. The flaming oil splashed, Astrid screamed, and things got out of hand for a bit until they got the fire under control. Not in time to save their dinner, or Howie's Aetheric stovetop which she probably should've known wouldn't like getting wet while in operation.

Astrid wasn't stupid. Just like water and flaming oil, water and electricity make for a bad combination. She knew that. She just… forgot. For a second. That's all. And now she had a giant pot of burnt oil and blackened lumps of fish filets to deal with, to say nothing of the ruined stovetop which was still sparking even though she'd cut the power and removed the Aetheric dynamo already.

"Do not worry Astrid," Elodie said, wrapping her in a warm hug and nuzzling in far too close for Astrid's liking. "We can go out and buy lunch. Howie give me his hat, so if there is danger, I will protect you."

Logic which only made sense in Elodie's mind, and Astrid didn't have the heart to tell her that Howie only gave her the hat because no one else wanted to wear it. It was getting on in years and he wore it all day every day while out in the sun, so there was only so much Prestidigitation could do to keep it clean. For all his good habits, washing his hat with any regularity wasn't one of them, and Astrid would've screamed if he put that stuffy thing on her head and ruined her perfect hair.

It wasn't easy keeping her bangs perfectly straight and the rest of her hair in good order. Chrissy's hair was straight as an arrow and only had the lightest tangles, but Astrid had to spend a half hour every morning with a brush and straightening iron to keep her hair in check. She also didn't have an older brother who cared enough to help her with it every morning, not like Howie did with Chrissy. He'd even been doing Elodie's hair lately, but he never once offered to do Astrid's, not even as a joke. Not that she wanted him to do her hair, because that'd be weird. It'd just be nice if he offered is all, or was a little nicer in general. With Chrissy and Elodie, he was all sweet smiles and soft words, but if Astrid so much as asked him to look over her Etches, he'd make a sour face and tell her she was wasting her time.

And more importantly, wasting his time too, even though he was all too happy to sing songs with Chrissy or take Elodie out for a run every morning.

Astrid wasn't jealous. She wasn't. She might've once had a tiny bit of crush on Howie, but the more time she spent with him, the more she realized he'd grown up into a real pickle-puss. It'd always been a joke, that Howie was everyone's older brother and a real killjoy and spark snuffer. Worn saddled and long toothed, like she was always calling him, but it wasn't much of a joke anymore. Man was all work and no play, not unless it was Chrissy or Elodie asking him, and when Astrid approached for help with her work, he was encouraging, but aloof too, like he couldn't be bothered to help her out. Kept saying she had it, that she didn't need him and could figure this out for herself, or that she ought to just test it out and see what happens, but who was crazy enough to test an Etch that hadn't been properly cleared by an experienced Artificer?

Fire and explosions were one thing, but a bad Etch could do far worse than just explode. It could cause a wild surge of Aether in the area and do all sorts of crazy things, like pulse out a mind-altering wave that caused Fear, Confusion, or even short-term Madness. Could also drain the Aether from the area only for it to come back harder and faster than ever and ruin any Spells or Artifacts functioning in the area. Random Hexes, spontaneous Conjurations, loss of language for a limited time-frame, hostile Summoned creatures without a Summoner to control them, the possibilities were endless when it came to malfunctioning Etches.

And exceedingly rare, but never wasn't zero, so she'd rather not go testing her Etches like some spark-addle hex-brain until she got some more experience under her belt.

All she wanted was for Howie to look her Etches over and make sure there weren't any glaring issues, but he only ever glanced at them in passing without using any of his Divination Spells or breaking out his tools to check that there wasn't any flux warping from poor harmonics, overburn from pushing too much Aether into the circuit, bleed-off from an errant Etch that wasn't properly aligned, or any of the dozens of other common issues she wasn't equipped to diagnose on her own, but he was always too busy to do any of that.

Too busy for Astrid at least. That clodhopper. Still, he was pretty hot standing up to that mafioso in Riverrun, ready to throw down at the drop of a hat if they so much as inconvenienced Chrissy. No idea why Astrid found his explosive temper so attractive, especially since it'd gotten him arrested. Al he had to do was keep a civil tongue with a Hexing Alderman of all things, but he couldn't do it. He just had to mouth off and call him some sort of stupid, though to be fair, Alderman Milton was Etching all the wrong Runes if he wanted Howie to help out. The Qin Republic sent people to kill his daddy after all, and recently sent people to kill him too, so of course he wouldn't want anything to do with the Republic.

Didn't matter if he could save a lot of people. That wasn't on him, and seeing how folks have been treating him lately, Astrid could hardly blame Howie for not wanting to help.

"We'll all go out together," Daddy said, in response to Elodie's declaration. "All five of us," Daddy added, giving Harald a hard look that said he wasn't taking no for an answer. "We'll gear up, head out, get some food, then come back to the ship as a group." Patting his belt, it took him a few tries to get his hands on the holsters he'd added on, ones which held two serviceable semi-automatic handguns that had seen much better days. Howie could probably rattle off the name and specs, but all Astrid knew about Aetherarms was that you pointed them at whatever you wanted dead before putting your finger on the trigger. Howie taught them a little bit more using some oversized revolver that hurt her hand whenever it shot, but rather than use one of those, she helped herself to his smallest revolver that was almost kinda cute. It fit much better in her dainty hands, and was more comfortable on her hip too. Unlike handguns, the licenses were one size fit all anyways, so she figured it was no big deal.

No one else grabbed a gun, because no one else could be trusted with one. Not Harald, who kept resting his finger on the trigger and waving the gun around because he'd forget it was in his hand, and not Elodie who didn't like guns in the slightest. Chrissy gave the guns a good, long look, but it was hard to tell what she was thinking. She always had the same expression, though she was more active of late, nodding more and tilting her head this way and that when asked questions, just like she did when Astrid asked her what she'd like to eat.

"Too many choices," Elodie said, her hands flashing with Aether and motion alike as she Signed while she talked. "Chrissy has trouble deciding, so you must ask easier questions." Blinking in thought, the green-haired Elodie pursed her lips before turning to Chrissy and asking, "Do you want raw food, or cooked?"

Chrissy blinked, tilted her head left, then right, and signed something before saying, "Cooked."

"Glad we established that much," Astrid grumbled, before reaching out to take Chrissy's hand and get it a few pats to show she wasn't angry at her. "How about this instead. We'll go take a look at what they have in town, and if you see something you like, you let us know okay?"

"Okay Astrid." Even though her expression didn't change, you could tell Chrissy was happy because she swung her arm back and forth while holding Astrid's hand. She was so adorable, so sweet and sincere even though she was probably worried sick about Howie. Or maybe not worried at all, as she had a bounce in their step as they made their way into town with Daddy leading the way, followed by Elodie and Chrissy, with Astrid at the end of the chain while tugging on Harald's sleeve to keep him from getting lost or bumping into people. They were both all dressed up, with long sleeves, dark hoods, and thick scarves to hide as much of their features as they could, but there was no hiding their horns. They couldn't hide all of their red skin either, but Astrid kept her head down as best she could, while Harald did the same because he had his nose buried in a book.

At least she'd kept her tail hidden all these years. It was so embarrassing to have a tail, and the thought of anyone seeing it sent chills down her spine. Couldn't really say why either, except that it was so weird and gross, like a pointed leather appendage sticking out from above her butt and looking all slick and muscular. It wasn't all that thick, maybe half that of her arm, but sometimes it felt like her tail had a mind of its own. It flicked back and forth when she was nervous, and would wrap itself around her legs or random objects if it wasn't kept contained, so she'd gotten into the habit of hiding it as best she could. Couldn't really hide it all that well while sharing the wagon with Chrissy and Elodie, but neither one had said anything about it, so there was that much at least.

Either way, she was proud of Harald for not being ashamed of his appearance, because Astrid most certainly was. She'd give anything to have pretty, pale skin like Chrissy, or healthy tanned skin like Elodie. The horns Astrid could live with, because a lot of Innates had horns and weren't called devilkin, but she loathed her red skin with a vengeance. There was no one to blame for it, no one besides the people who screamed when they saw her or worse tried to kill her for being evil incarnate.

What she wouldn't give to have an Innate Brand like Chrissy's. Her gorgeous silver hair combined with the amethyst gem studded in her forehead gave her a regal, almost angelic appearance, and if she could smile, she'd dazzle anyone who saw her. Elodie's Innate Brand wasn't terrible either, because no one was afraid of emerald green eyes or hair, and those triangular gem-like markings on her cheeks were just adorable. She wasn't shy about showing it off either, walking around with her head on a swivel while running ahead before doubling back and circling around just to make sure she didn't miss a thing. She was nervous, but having so much fun in this new and unfamiliar town, and Astrid envied her the ability to go around in a buckskin dress with bared shoulders and calves without having to worry about someone wanting her dead.

There wasn't really much to see in Ashbend, not really. The main street was a straight shot down to the other side, so Daddy brought them down the main road until they found a restaurant that didn't look too busy and had a few items on the menu that would travel well. Wraps and burritos mostly, and they ordered enough so they wouldn't have to come back later tonight. If Howie wasn't out of jail by then, then Daddy said he'd talk to his contacts and see what they could do to help out, but he was holding off just in case Aultman and Sons had people here in town. Ashbend was the closest major port to the Deadlands after all, so it wouldn't be all that surprising to find the family or their employees hanging out and about. While the average worker wouldn't know much about the Askefjords, their red skin and black horns stood out, so Geoffry Aultman was sure to hear about them sooner or later.

Later would be best, because they were here to learn their secrets after all. Not steal them; they weren't going to raid the company files, spy on their farms, or anything of the sort. They just wanted to take a look at the plants in their natural habitat is all, and then see what they could do about growing them back by Lake Last Chance. All legal and aboveboard, because it wasn't like Aultman and Sons owned the plants after all. They were just the first to figure out how to process them, and Astrid could do the same once she had a steady supply of ingredients to work with.

It took some doing to figure out what Chrissy wanted on her burrito until Astrid broke down and went down the list one ingredient at a time. Much to the waiter's chagrin, but there was no helping it. Elodie was no help either, because once she finished ordering her burritos with everything on it, she declared she was going to step outside to keep watch. The sweet, silly girl was just starved for adventure, even though she was scared as a mouse. It shouldn't be a problem though, because at least Cowie would be there with her and keep her out of too much trouble.

Or so she thought, until Astrid stepped out to find Elodie holding a furious baby Cowie in her arms while surrounded by several rough looking men, one of whom glowed with the light of a Spell. Elodie would've been better off setting the baby bull down so he could turn big and threatening, but the silly girl held onto him instead while talking to the leader of the rough looking men. "I tell you again," she was saying, her brow furrowed in frustration more than anything else, "I do not want to go with you. I am here to buy lunch and dinner, and then I go back to Howie's boat with my friends."

"I've got something to feed you, darling," the man said, reaching out to raise Howie's hat for a better look, only for Elodie to bare her teeth and snap at his fingers. His bark of laughter was dry and ugly, ugly as his grin as he said, "Feisty one, aren't you?"

"I do not know what this word means," Elodie declared. Seeing Astrid and everyone else, she added, "I am leaving now. Do not bother me again."

The thugs didn't give up so easily though, with the lead one slipping his arm around her shoulder to hold her firmly in place while the others moved in to surround Astrid, Chrissy, Harald, and Daddy who'd just stepped out of the restaurant carrying the bulk of their food. There wasn't anyone else to hold it after all, because Astrid had to shepherd Harald and Chrissy while Elodie had been outside, but now she wished she'd insisted on helping him carry at least half. Both his arms were full now, and he wouldn't be able to draw his gun if it came to it, while Elodie was caught in the other man's grip and unable to shake free because she was more concerned about keeping Cowie in her arms as he squirmed and snorted in warning. Grimacing at the group of grizzled faces, Astrid grabbed Harald's book out of his hand and hissed, "Look lively."

It took a few seconds for him to register what was happening. He was so lost in his thoughts, he wasn't really paying attention to anything besides the fact that his book was no longer in his hands, so he reached over for it until he noticed they were surrounded. "Hello," he said, greeting the thugs with a nod before turning to Daddy and asking, "Are these friends of yours?"

Astrid loved her brother, but there were times when she wanted to strangle him.

"Nah," the lead thug replied, pulling Elodie in close like they was real friendly while she was more concerned about Cowie. "We could be friends though. Got some questions for you and yours." Only now did Astrid notice the man was Native American just like Elodie, with skin so weathered it looked like leather hide and squinty eyes that were hard and humourless. "Couldn't help but notice you came in on a ship with the Firstborn, and I heard some things about him." Sweeping his jacket aside with his free arm, he revealed a gleaming silver pistol as well as giant machete on which rested his hand. His men did the same, showing off their weapons without actually drawing them, but making their intent known all the same. "Like how he's here in town for my head. Me and my boys were ready to talk as soon as he stepped off his boat, but then the Sheriff picked him up, so I figured I'd come talk to you lot and find out why he'd want to come all this way just for little old me."

"That is preposterous," Harald replied, and Astrid cringed to hear it, wishing she'd let him keep his book so he wouldn't interrupt. "Howie only hunts outlaws with bounties on their heads." Then, like it only just occurred to him, Harald tilted his head and asked, "Do any of you have a bounty on your head?"

"No," the man said with a shake of his head. "There's no price on me or mine, but I heard what I heard I believe my source." Leering at Elodie from the side, then Chrissy, he flashed his ugly smile with his crooked, yellowed teeth and said, "So how's about this then. I'll take the doe here, and the angel too, both to keep me company while we wait. Then when the Firstborn gets out of jail, you tell him Dakota Slim has his girls and is just dying to meet him."

Elodie's priorities were just as skewed, as she fought to keep Cowie under control and said, "Elodie is not doe!" Astrid's priorities were equally wrong, as her first instinct was to wonder why he didn't include her as well. Was it because she had red skin? Or because she was all wrapped up and they thought she was a boy? It wasn't like she wanted to leave with them, as it was clear these men had no good intentions, but if so, then why wouldn't they want her too?

"Unacceptable," Harald replied, stepping forward to help Elodie only for one of the men to lash out and punch him in the face.

"Wasn't a suggestion," the puncher drawled, and the others laughed along when they saw Harald drop to the ground, but all Astrid saw was red. There was no thought, no hesitation, because they'd punched her brother. Her goofy slob of a brother who always had his nose in a book and only ever wanted to help people was down on the ground with his hands over his face, and these animals were laughing about it.

So she hit back, only she didn't use her fist. The Spell came naturally as her blood surged hot and her skin glowed gold. It wasn't one that she Awakened with her Bloodline, but one Daddy made her learn the normal way because it was her best bet in a situation just like this. A single word of power is all it took, that and a gesture like she was throwing a handful of sand, but rather than sand, she sent out a wave of pure Force that knocked most the group on their asses. That was Pressure Wave, a less-lethal version of Blast that was still strong enough to knock a man onto his ass. Put enough power into it however, and less-lethal became irrelevant as the Spell hit hard enough to break bones and rupture organs.

Not Dakota Slim's bones or organs however, and he didn't even fall as he had some defensive Spells to help absorb the blow. Still drove him back a step, but then his hand went for his gun and Astrid's life flashed before her eyes. Elodie was faster though, surging with Aether as she pivoted about while sweeping her foot to kick the thug's ankles out from under him with a bone-cracking snap. Then she brought that same foot up, around and down in a powerful stomp, and that was that.

"Bad man," Elodie declared, still cuddling Cowie who blew a raspberry at Dakota Slim, who could no longer respond because his chest had just been shattered in a single strike. Glowering at the rest of the thugs, Elodie stood tall and proud with toes planted in Dakota Slim's grisly remains and declared, "You are all very bad men." The downed thugs could hardly believe their eyes, gasping for air while looking from Elodie to their dead leader who'd been so brutally killed in a single blow. Then their eyes went hard and Astrid saw the moment they all decided to act as one, a singular decision they made as one before going for their guns.

Harald's Scorching Beam to struck the closest thug head on, then the bright orange beam bounced to his neighbour, then again, and again, and again until every last thug was struck. Familiar as she was with the Spell, she'd never seen it used against a living creature, not human, not animal, and not Abby. Now that she had though, she'd never forget it. The incandescent ray of heat struck each man one after the other, and their skin turned orange, then black as they all opened their mouths in silent screams while their bodies turned to char and ash from the inside out. The air in their lungs had burned before the rest of them. That's why they couldn't scream. Their organs had already been burnt to a crisp, cooked from the inside out and rendered into coal like the burnt remains of those fish filets she'd ignited earlier on today.

Except these weren't fish. These were men. Living, breathing men who'd just died before her eyes.

All that happened in the blink of an eye, and it took Astrid long seconds to process it. Then she turned to side and threw up everything she'd eaten today and then some, before making the mistake of taking a deep breath, at which point the smell of burnt flesh churned her stomach so much it found more in her to hurl up.

Travelling with the Firstborn was nowhere near as fun as she thought it'd be. First, mafiosos in Riverrun, then a standoff with a Ranger and an Alderman on the Wayfarer, and now this. So much for keeping a low profile though, because if this didn't get people talking, then nothing would.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

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