Waterstrider

Little Celah, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fifthmonth, 1634 PTS

I sat at a small cafe, drinking some odd, bitter liquid many Celans enjoyed. Personally, I did not understand this, as I found it more unpleasant than enjoyable. That said, it was the only drink on the menu aside from water that my body could digest, so I would continue to drink it while fiddling with a glyph slate. I could not read the glyphs, of course, but nobody was looking all that closely towards the short Jobu with an ordinary face.

It was odd to be in a location so designed for and filled with members of another humanoid race. The Celans were so similar to my own people, but were different in just as many ways. As many regular chairs as there were at the tables, there were also odd stools almost level with the table’s surface, designed for the comfort of Korlove. The script that directed passerby, and advertised the shops and restaurants was composed of those same alien glyphs, and the smell of the street food cooking was little like that of my own people’s meats and spices. Somehow, it was even more alienating and off-putting than the endless swarms of oversized bugs in Otan.

Of all the sect’s forces, I was the only one who could truly pull off a convincing disguise, even with Rachel’s help. With too close of an inspection, there was a risk that the disguises of the rest might be seen through. Thus, I was sitting out in public, ready to assist if there were any problems.

On the other side of the table resided an illusory Korlove, Rachel’s ‘addition’ to my disguise. There was absolutely no need for such a thing, but she had insisted. I had felt it was unlikely to cause problems, so I had allowed it. Still, I couldn’t help but question why she had chosen a Korlove appearance over that of a Jobu.

Suddenly, Rachel leaned over, whispering to me.

“They asked for our status, and I told them that we were ready to go.”

Instinctively, I cringed backwards from the oversized insect so close to my face. I had to restrain my instinct to smash her face in. Between the Downpour region and Otan, I had met few such creatures without having to fight them.

“Did you really need to go with that appearance?” I asked. In response she laughed at me.

“I don’t think I would look good with that many muscles. I prefer being the slim type.”

I glanced over at the spindly, spider-like legs which extended from her abdomen. She certainly was slim in this form, I thought. However I did not understand how she felt this appearance might be more flattering than that of a Jobu. Sometimes I wondered why the Korlove were even classified as humanoid. At first glance, one would think them more likely to be distant relatives of the Escalos.

On the street, I saw a group of workers bump into a woman who seemed like a corporate drone, and watched as she became extremely angry. I glanced at Rachel.

“Is that…” I asked, and Rachel nodded.

Following the confirmation, I stood up, and walked over to the altercation, where a pair of Jobu men in baggy worker’s overalls were staring down an incensed woman in a neatly pressed suit. The two were speaking very quietly, at contrast with her loud, overbearing voice. In my ears, I could hear the translation of their words. Though I had been continuing my study of the Staiven language, I hadn’t even begun to touch the Celan tongue. That was a matter I would address eventually, but had not yet found the time for. Eventually, I wished to be fluent in all three major languages on the station.

The two men involved in the event were, of course, Orion and one of his subordinates, a mostly unremarkable flickering practitioner named Li Qing. The two were, I assumed, being quiet because they had no idea what the woman was even saying, and did not wish to reveal their distinct accents. “Is there a problem?” I asked as I approached the trio. My words were spoken in Staiven, and Rachel modulated the sound of my voice to remove the hints of my true nature.

Not appreciating my meddling, the Jobu woman spun, facing me with her glare.

“What do you care?” she growled. “These idiots made me spill my drink! You had better pay for the dry-cleaning!” she said, with another angered glance at Orion. He protested in fluent Celan, and at the exact same moment, Rachel’s voice translated it in my ears.

“That’s ridiculous!” he said, “You were the one who bumped into us!” For a moment I was taken aback that he could speak the language so well, before I realized it was more likely that this had been the product of Rachel puppeteering the illusion which covered his body.

The woman sneered towards him.

“I don’t see your clothes being wet.”

I glanced over, and saw that her clothes were instead slightly wet, and perhaps even slightly stained by the dark brown liquid which had been in her cup. It seemed to be the same one that I had been drinking earlier.

“Look, I’m sure they would be happy to pay for your… ‘dry cleaning,’” I said. “I’m sure you can all work this through easily. Just keep your arguments quieter, alright? Some people are trying to eat.”

I turned back to return to my seat, playing off my involvement as random chance. We should still have a number of hours prior to the attack, and I was concerned that Astna’s famed information network, or even Janottka might inform them of our specific locations in advance. Even if they knew we were coming, I wished to be able to launch the attack as swiftly and instantly as was possible.

I felt it was better to get this over with as quickly as possible and avoid the potential issue of her looking too closely at the others. I couldn’t imagine the price would be much at all, compared to the quantities of money an underworld organization such as the Redwater Sect dealt with on a daily basis.

Orion nodded.

“I can give a little, but within reason!” he said.

It was odd to know mentally that this was him, but his appearance and speech was so extremely different from his actual self that it threw me off. It didn’t help that the voice Rachel was using for the translation sounded like her doing an impression of his voice.

The argument went on for another couple minutes, with Rachel taking the main role, but ultimately they gave her forty serite, and the woman moved on with her day without taking much note of any oddness with the two workers she had pestered earlier. As I saw her leave, I let out a long breath.

Before passing by to reach the place we had rented as a meeting spot, Orion gave me a sneaky salute as he passed my spot at the cafe. I gave him a nod, and he progressed beyond view.

Our plan, insofar as it had been one, was both simple and complex. We had disguised ourselves as Jobu, and had simply walked into Little Celah from the fifth district border, moving in small groups to avoid attracting attention. I had arrived first, and the others had slowly moved in. This was not the first situation I had needed to resolve, but it was one of the easiest, hardly even requiring my presence.

I relaxed back in my seat, knowing that it was likely nothing for me to do would happen for at least another hour. The position was relaxing, but I felt as if there was something I needed to do that I had not yet achieved.

And now, I thought, we waited. Soon, the signal would come, and war would enter the streets of Little Celah, just like Canvas Town and Otan before it. I felt that the civilians living nearby would not appreciate the development.

I turned back to Rachel, still not liking her current appearance much.

“You’ve gotten access to the video feeds from around the headquarters, right?” I asked.

Her arachnoid body rippled in what I could only guess was supposed to be an approximation of a shrug.

“They have the area pretty locked down, but yes. Those around the main entrance, at least. It’s difficult to be sure whether or not there are alternate entrances at different points. I would be surprised if there weren’t, though.”

Hearing this, I frowned, wondering if the Redwater Sect could use such backup plans in case of invasion. In fact, it seemed odd that we lacked them. I supposed that Rachel’s ability to teleport us in a pinch counted, even if there was risk of disruption by any active sending stones.

I sighed, and leaned backwards in my seat. My hand itched to grasp the hilt of my blade, and tear through the Celan defenses. This, I hoped, would be the battle I had sought ever since that moment in the underground facility.

I wanted a good fight, and this time, I would not allow the Celans to back out. Not until I felt satisfied, at least.

Public Perception of the Heirs of Ottrien: [As is not uncommon for gangs formed from a disenfranchised population, the Heirs promote themselves as the guardians of Little Celah. Though they do take protection money, they successfully ‘defend’ the district from the majority of predatory alien interests, and due to the current divide between the Celans and the Seiyal, this matter earns more merit in the eyes of the local population than it normally would. Many Celans see the organization as a ‘government and military of their own’, though some, particularly those living in the fifth district, see them as a criminal force which extorts the people. Currently, however, the public support for the Heirs are at an all time high within Little Celah proper. The other races, however, see them as nothing but alien thugs, unless the potential for some sort of deal exists.]