Roofrats 2

Weft vaulted over the low wall at the edge of the roof. If he was trying to be subtle, he was rubbish at it--a glint of steel caught the sunlight as he went over. The male fell two short storeys without any concern whatsoever, landed on his feet and took time to straighten himself out and pat at invisible dust on his upper arm. Then he began to swagger deceptively fast through the thinning throng.

Down on the street, the auburn man noticed Weft, tugged at his accomplice's sleeve and spoke a couple of words. His other hand was on the curved dagger Weft had pointed out, which was attached to a baldric.

The woman in yellow glanced around her and seemed to be giving the man an instruction.

Just then, distractingly, someone spoke to Nico from the next rooftop over. She said "Now what's a tourist like you keeping such disreputable company for?"

Disreputable was generally one of the first adjectives a new learner picked up, at the same time as prestigious, bad and good, legal and illegal, and of course fashionable and unfashionable.

Her head turned a bit too suddenly for her to fake being unsurprised, but her stifled chuckle about Weft's little show was easily turned into a grin.

"Entertainment, heh?" Yeesh, what now? Nico half-turned back towards the street, but did her best to keep her attention up on the rooftops, and asked offhandedly, "You ask why?"

"Yes, I ask why," the stranger said, more slowly. "Those people are... not good. They're sellers of death. Didn't you know? I would hate a visiting friend to get caught up with them."

The woman had clear blue eyes and pale yellow hair. She was full-figured, in mid-adulthood and dressed in blacks and greys. She was leaning on the wooden rail around her rooftop without much concern.

The man to whom she was referring, lately Red Death and currently dressed as a cosmopolitan hoodlum, was facing down the two in the street without blinking. Their conversation was inaudible, but his smile was nasty and his stance suggested weapons might be drawn at any moment.

Nico sighed, and lost the amused air for more than one reason. I asked why you asked why, or meant to, anyway... shehad to practise the grammar still. But the woman had more or less answered the question, anyway, and by a small margin a chat with her seemed more interesting that only watching the proceedings. "What place are you from?"

The woman in turn looked more cagey. "East Mo'maus." She didn't seem to invite further questions on the subject. "I'm Wirin. I sell safety."

The two on the street were backing away from Weft, making a great show of adjusting their clothing in a fashion that suggested they hadn't wanted to be there anyway.

Wirin repeated one of Nico's earlier words, drawing out the vowels, which basically meant "'Entertainment', eh?"

"More when he is not on duty, maybe." She gave Wirin a slightly sheepish grin. "Sell safety? I don't understand."

The woman blinked, briefly smirked, then gave in and laughed.

Nico grinned in answer, the satisfaction halfway faked. Gee, what a talent; I wasn't even trying this time, she sighed mentally, wondering if Wirin was talking about insurances, birth control, or something else entirely.

The little show on the street she filed under "cute".

Wirin paused wiping the corner of her eye. "I mean, you're joking, right? About the 'entertainment'."

Down below, Weft looked over his shoulder and slunk out of sight for a few seconds.

"Can be I don't understand all meaning you hear."

"You just implied that you're barbing him," the woman told her cheerfully. "I guessed you didn't mean to. It's funny because there are actually rumours that they keep spies in the whorehouses."

Nico chuckled - Oh, the joy of euphemisms... - and after a thoughtfull hum said, "I don't know his job really."

That caused the woman to be quiet for a second or two.

"Oh, that explains things," she said. "I did wonder why you were hanging out with extortionists. That's why I asked, see?"

The former Red Death came back into view. He appeared grim and professional.

"Sometimes to cause them trouble. This time just" - Nico's grin turned into a puzzled frown as she looked for a word -"just, mh, luck? So far." This nearly started smelling of politics...

"Interesting. I myself, and my colleagues, are here to cause these people trouble. We are law enforcement."

One of the more, dare we say, arresting features of the Offwhite City was that 'police' were all privately hired, and indeed they did look much like this Wirin: competent, appraising and able to hold their own.

Weft, still down on the street, was looking into the window of a weapon shop.

The earlier "I sell safety" started to make sense now.

"This is confusing. You say the monks are criminals?"

"This gang likes to pretend to be legitimate," Wirin said after another pause. "Like... official, you understand? I don't know what this one has told you, but he is an enforcer for the gang boss. Very dangerous."

Weft was sneaking a glance into a fibre shop, whose window displayed an assortment of colourful yarns.

"Enforcer means killer?" She was thoughtful, but did not appear markedly concerned. Something didn't add up here, and the main reason why she did not dismiss Wirin as the liar right away was that Nico knew she had a habit of giving people she'd met already sometimes too much benefit of the doubt.

"Killing, beating, torture. A violent criminal pretending to be a holy man. That's what really makes me angry." Wirin shook her head and slammed the backs of her fingernails into her palm, a gesture of constrained aggression.

Weft stretched and began to saunter back towards Nico's rooftop, moving more slowly this time.

"Ah." That made rather more sense than what Nico had understood first: the whole Order being a criminal organisation. "You know his job here, now?"