"Whoa, it's absolutely slammed tonight," Timoth said, grinning as he leaned over the mezzanine railing.
The bass was thumping so violently that the floorboards shuddered under his boots. It felt as though the DJ cranked the volume to a lethal level just to see whose eardrums would burst first.
Hexoset below was a high-voltage fever dream.
Glossy metallic walls caught the light, and neon strips chased each other around the room, pulsing in sync with the kick drum. Scattered throughout the club were velvet booths, each one a tiny island housing a different clique.
It was a messy Venn diagram of humanity: Normies from Balun, draped in the latest cyber-fashion, sitting inches away from Peculiars, draped in a more dystopian streetwear.
Their glances at one another, like an explosion of colours, were saturated with various emotions - some anxious, others uneasy. There was disgust. Even hate. Timoth saw it all from his bird's-eye view.
Only a few people on the floor seemed to be genuinely vibing, and even their joy felt like a performance - a deliberate, desperate attempt to ignore the tension threatening to short-circuit the entire room.
The second floor was a sanctuary for the socially exhausted.
Introverts dangled from hammocks strung between heavy industrial beams, nursing smoking red cocktails. Strobe lights fractured the darkness in vibrant colours across the main floor where people danced, totally lost in the rhythm.
Meanwhile, the DJ, a cephalopod Peculiar, presided over the chaos on a raised dais. His spotted, yellow tentacles whipped across the holographic decks, swapping vinyl as his head bobbed.
Behind him, a massive LED wall pulsed with a digital nebula, birthing new stars and collapsing into black holes with every heavy kick of the bass.
As Timoth took it all in, Ratelsi sidled up next to him, almost surprised by the calmness he radiated. It was kind of like the trouble that brought them to the club didn't faze him at all.
Maybe it was because he was momentarily caught up in Hexoset's atmosphere, but somehow, she envied him for his ease.
So far, the night had been suspiciously clean. No guns drawn, no sudden stops, just the natural noise of the crowd. But as she was driven by a need to stay informed, Broco's secrecy about the delivery and who the clients were left her feeling uneasy.
She didn't do well with blind spots. This issue needed immediate resolution, and now! There was no time to dawdle. Ratelsi bit back her thoughts, pinching her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger.
The sting helped.
And yet...in a strange way, this turn of events was weirdly exciting. It left her curious, despite her better judgment.
Right then, the atmosphere on the dance floor slowly turned carnal. Two women were locked in an open-mouthed mess of a kiss, tongues tangling and tracing the outline of moist, swollen lips.
Their hands wandered, hunting for pleasurable spots. Fingers disappeared under the short, tight hems of skirts with a raw, carnal intent that didn't give a damn who was watching.
Unused to seeing desire laid so bare, Timoth jerked his head away. So quick, as if he'd been burned.
But he wasn't fast enough to unsee one of the women's curves straining against latex as she sank her teeth into her partner's throat, then licked the reddened bite mark.
Ratelsi watched Timoth like a hawk.
She didn't miss the way his breath hitched, or the hot, fascinated crimson that flooded his face, turning his freckles into dark spots against a sea of red.
On the other hand, she thrived here.
The steady untz-untz-untz burrowed its way into her skull. It violated her ribcage, rattled her teeth and climbed through her heels, settling in her gut as a heavy, thrumming heat.
Her skin felt too tight for her body.
It demanded movement, making Ratelsi feel the itch to strip off the mission. To throw herself into the sweat and the friction of the crowd and just dance until she forgot her own name.
But the reality of their mission begged her focus.
So, she turned to Timoth and shouted, "We need a plan!"
The heavy bass swallowed her smoky alto whole, rendering her words dead on arrival. Timoth, obviously clueless about what she said, just blinked, utterly lost, and gave a helpless nod.
With a frustrated snort, Ratelsi didn't wait for him to catch up.
She hooked her fingers into the crook of his elbow and yanked, dragging him toward a shadowed alcove where the acoustics were slightly less deafening.
Timoth didn't resist, only smiling amusedly. He let her haul him through the crowd, his boots scuffing lazily against the floorboards.
"Feeling a bit aggressive tonight, aren't we?" he teased.
As she pulled him into the corner, he let his hand slide down her arm until his fingers rested against the inside of her wrist. His thumb pressed firmly over her radial artery, feeling the frantic, machine-gun rhythm of her heart.
"Jesus, Rat. You're wound up tight enough to snap."
She ripped her arm back, resisting the heat of his touch, and hissed, "Shut up and listen."
Closing the distance between them until their chests were a hair's breadth apart, the scent of the club—sweat, expensive gin, and ozone—faded, replaced by the clean scent of his skin.
Sensing her intent to communicate, Timoth instinctively leaned down toward her.
Ratelsi brushed her cheek against Timoth's so her lips would reach his ear, "We can't just stand here looking like gawkers at a freak show," she murmured.
"We need to map this place before we even think of getting near Vesir. We gotta know who's in the pocket of Broco's crew and which exits aren't death traps."
Timoth tried to hold onto a smirk, a reflex to mask the way her proximity made his pulse skip. But the expression withered under the intensity of her gaze.
Looking at her this closely, every word she spoke seemed to deepen the malachite hue of her eyes, mimicking the turbulent depth of her thoughts.
Confusion flickered in his sky-blue eyes.
Was that what was making her so antsy?
He'd been coasting on the high of their progress, lulled into a false sense of security by how effortlessly they'd slipped through the entry point. But as the conversation turned toward the grim truth, realisation hit him like a bucket of ice water.
She was right to be cautious!
The bigger question was… why wasn't he?
The playful fog in his brain cleared instantly. He straightened his posture, hardening his expression as he said, "Fair point," and dropped the boyish charm for something more serious.
"But how do we scope a room this packed without lookin' like feds? You wanna work the perimeter, or should we split the floor?"
"Before that," Ratelsi leaned back against the velvet-wrapped pillar, her eyes tracking the mezzanine while she jerked a thumb toward the entrance.
Snigel, the massive slab of muscle guarding the door, was still letting guests in and out of the club.
"Grizzly bear over there mentioned Broco's 'special guests,' " she said. "He made it sound like they were new royalty. Or at least, people who could get him executed if he so much as messed up their drink orders. What's your read on that?"
Tapping his smooth chin, Timoth thought for a moment. "I don't know. High rollers? Whales with enough Aures to burn this whole place down for fun?"
Ratelsi didn't answer immediately. Instead, she leveled her hand at him, thumb cocked and index finger pointed straight at the center of his chest.
Dangerous mischief sparkled in her eyes as she mouthed the word Bang
Timoth continued rubbing his imaginary stubble. "Huh. When Broco called me for this gig, he was totally hyped about some 'shipment of gifts' arrivin' tonight. But the second I pushed for a manifest or even a name, he shut down. I figured, hey, he's payin' the bills, so why poke the bear?"
"Because the bear is hiding something that's gonna bite us in the fucking ass," Ratelsi hissed.
"The bastard is keeping us in the dark on purpose, and I'm losing my goddamn mind playing the guessing game. Someone in this sweaty shithole saw those clients walk in, and I want to know who and why Broco's keeping 'em a secret from us."
Running his fingers through his tousled curls, Timoth looked down at the lively crowd. Some strands fell over his forehead, adding to his boyish charm.
"Ya serious?" he asked. "You really think these folks are just gonna spill whatever info we want just 'cause we asked nicely?"
Ratelsi offered a nonchalant shrug, her palms upturned as if saying stranger things have happened, why not?
His chuckle was velvety soft. "Yeah, I wouldn't put money on that play. We're more likely to get a drink thrown in our faces than a lead."
Ratelsi squinted, quirking her lips into a half-smile. She had anticipated his skepticism; in fact, she counted on it.
A languid, electric thrill rippled down her arms, raising a braille of goosebumps across her deep brown skin. The club's heat was oppressive, but the adrenaline felt like ice water in her veins.
"Relax, Timoth. We're not gonna corner 'em and start an interrogation," she said, tracking the flow of the club, ignoring the sweat-slicked dancers and the shadows in the corners, until her focus locked onto a specific beacon of light.
Then, she smirked, "We're gonna give 'em a reason to chat."
At the far end of the hall, a long bar counter glowed with neon radiance, bleeding hues of electric violet and acid green into the surrounding gloom. Behind it, a lanky Peculiar moved with the jerky grace of a marionette.
He was meticulously lining up and drowning a row of tall, spindly glasses in a liquid so deep and viscous it looked like fresh arterial blood.
Ratelsi pointed a taloned finger directly at the moody bartender with messy dark-and-crimson hair, heavy eyeliner, and an irritated expression that perfectly captured the "disgruntled employee" aesthetic.
"There," she rasped excitedly. "See the stringy dude in the oversized tee? That's Macaque Qim."
"Who?"
"Macaque Qim!"
Timoth's nose scrunched a bit as he tilted his head.
The way he did so gave him the look of a man listening for an explanation he hoped would come anytime soon.
I should probably know him, but I definitely don't; that's what his entire expression seemed to say without words.
An exasperated sigh.
Ratelsi's eyes rolled upward with weary impatience, "Obviously, he's an Intel Monger," and swept an arm across the main floor below. "In a place like this, built on secrets here and there, the man pouring the poison is the only one with a master key."
Timoth crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes as he said, "Okay? And how come you know him and I don't?"
"Wow, shocking that I know someone you don't." She tilted her head like he did, lips curling into a smirk, and continued sarcastically.
"Can't handle it?"
Timoth rolled his shoulders, forcing a laugh. "Cute. You think this gets under my skin?"
Hehe. Ratelsi leaned in so he could see the amused glint in her eyes. "You're doing it again," she said.
Before he could ask what she meant, she pointed a taloned finger directly at the bridge of his nose.
"That little twitch. Right there," she noted. "You know your nose gives you away every time, right?"
Ratelsi remained silent after pointing it out, letting the realization sink in that he's been 'caught' by his own biology.
Poor Timoth instinctively brought his hand to rub his face, trying to mask the movement as an itch.
"My nose? That's... that's just allergies, Rat. The dust in here is-" He stopped when he saw her eyebrow arch. Even he knows the allergy card has long gone stale by now.
Realizing he couldn't outrun his own anatomy, Timoth opted for an indignant redirection. He let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh that he immediately regretted.
"Okay, first of all, that is a physiological fluke. It's a muscle spasm. It has nothin' to do with the validity of my statement," he stammered, backing away slightly. "And second... it's incredibly rude of you to stare at my pores while I'm tryna have a serious conversation."
Ratelsi didn't give Timoth the satisfaction of an argument. Instead, she stood still, looking utterly unimpressed as he rambled on about "physiological flukes."
Then, reaching out, not to comfort him, she gave the tip of his nose a playful flick.
"Hey!"
The gesture was patronizing, yet strangely intimate. Still, he blinked in surprise, then swatted her hand away, muttering, "Wow, real mature."
Chuckling, she strode down the mezzanine, saying, "As long as you have that nose attached to your head, you don't have a single secret that belongs to only you, Timoth."
Then, she waved him over. "C'mon, let's get this over with. We're kinda short on time."
Her long hair swayed around her shoulders, the silver earrings on her pointed ears imitating her gait. Watching her go, Timoth let out a small sigh.
This woman always came up with plans based on nothing but a gut feeling and the urge to take action.
It drove him crazy, but he couldn't help but admit she usually ended up being spot on.
And he wanted to help, not tag along!
So, shifting his attention to the main floor, Timoth glanced around, looking for anyone who seemed to have been hanging out here for a while.
In the atrium, a game of darts was happening. People got in line, firing darts one after another, trying to hit the bullseye. The winners smoothly grabbed their tallys from the table.
Sky-blue eyes then landed on two Peculiars sitting in a booth nearby. Their barcodes were visible on their forearms as they laughed loudly over some light red shots. Timoth thought they might be a good place to scout for intel.
The stocky one had thick eyebrows with scales around his cheekbones, while the woman beside him sported glowing spikes for hair. It was clear in their bleariness that they'd been drinking a while, and the liquor had loosened their tongues, which Timoth hoped to use to his advantage.
So, adjusting the bags on his shoulders, he closed the distance, muttering, "Grana Aresona Surgunt."
With increasing intensity, a bioluminescent glow sparked in his irises until the light swallowed his pupils.
On the floorboards, a coil of grainy sand stirred to life, snaking up his arm and settling in a cuff around his wrist. It was a small precaution ready to coalesce into a weapon if needed.
Timoth leaned one elbow against the cracked leather of the booth, flashing a disarming grin. "Mind if I crash the fun?" he asked, his voice dripping with melodic charm. "Or is this a private giggle fest?"
The scaled Peculiar across from him squinted through bleary, bloodshot eyes. He leaned forward, the stench of stale sweat and fruity alcohol rolling off him, and nearly face-planted into a puddle of spilled booze.
"Illu…" he managed, the word breaking under a violent hiccup. "Yur… hic… yur seein' this glowing-eyed... hic... freak too, or ama... hic... finally losin' ma shyt?"
Freak? We're literally the same, stupid...thought Timoth as he tilted his head just enough to emphasize his disapproving glare.
Illu, a woman with white-spiked hair and a grease-stained vest, didn't look much better.
She sniffed hard with a lopsided grin on her face. Her eyes were unfocused, darting around Timoth's face without ever landing on a single feature.
"Fuuuuuck," she hissed in a raspy grate. "Khil… ask me again in like… in like two seconds, yeah? I think my soul just left the building."
Khil let out a sudden, barking laugh that smelled of Blyss. Given how strong the smell was, he must've taken a lot of it.
Tsk. Reckless.
He swayed in place, slapping the table with a scaled hand. "Oi, mate, yur got sum... hic... massive balls," he slurred, punctuating the sentence with another wet hiccup. "Just standin' over there... hic... and glaring like we stole yur gal or suttin. Fuck it, have a seat. I'm Khil!"
He hammered his palm against the seat, beckoning Timoth into the filth. Timoth didn't hesitate. He dropped his bags into the shadows beneath the table—keeping a close eye on them—and slid into the booth.
Khil shoved a glass of cocktail toward him, the reddish liquid sloshing inside.
Timoth caught it and brought the rim to his lips. The heady, oily musk of Blyss immediately hit his nostrils. Having read somewhere that ingesting much of the hallucinogenic drug led to vivid sensory distortions that worsened over time, he restricted himself to a sip.
"Timoth," he introduced himself with a grin, dimples digging in his cheeks as he hoisted his glass in a mock salute. "To another night in this circus, eh?"
Meanwhile, Ratelsi made her way to the now-empty bar. Navigating through the crowd, she listened as the sounds around her faded in and out. An animorph accidentally knocked over a few drinks with his tail, but a staff member quickly cast a spell to save the bottles from crashing. "Frigus!" another Peculiar chanted, trying to cool down her cocktail by freezing it.
Barcodes flashed on arms, faces and any exposed skin around the club, while among the many Normies, some thought it fun to stick to the corners. They glanced around before talking, pretended to scroll on their HoloSmarts, or perched uneasily at the edge of their seats with their knees pressed together.
It sure as hell was comical to watch how hard they tried to hide their discomfort. Their awkwardness gave away just how out of place they felt among the others.
VR machines lined the walls, casting a greenish glow over the scene.
The atmosphere was deafening to the point where it was almost hard to catch conversations just a few feet away. Luckily, Ratelsi's heightened hearing helped her pick out bits and pieces.
"…. can't believe he doesn't use ZapChat. Like, at all."
"..…she just showed up with his hoodie on, like we wouldn't notice…"
"...cash only, no receipts, piece of cake…"
"...I laughed at everything they said, even the bad jokes.…"
Sigh. None of these was what she wanted to hear!
Ratelsi couldn't stand being in the dark, and that pushed her to figure out more before their inevitable meeting.
Was she scared? Not really. Fear was not her dominant emotion.
This was just another annoying mess Broco had dragged them into, and with no idea of his true intentions, she figured the least she could do was stay alert - for herself and for Timoth.
So, if anyone was going to notice when the clients rolled in, it was the bartender who always had eyes on the tips and ears open for the tea. Forget the guest list; he knew who really belonged here.
Dressed in a sleeveless zip-up vest and khaki shorts, the bartender with a buzz cut and light brown eyes occasionally glanced her way as she approached.
Ratelsi didn't even try to hide her satisfaction with that attention.
Undisguised delight illuminated her features as she flopped onto the barstool like she owned the place. She lazily shook out her gorgeous hair, flipping the dark strands back while casually tucking the white ones behind her ears, which were multiple-pierced.
"Take this over to table 24 and ask Marleen for another round of Blyss from the back, will ya?"
The bartender turned to Ratelsi after the waitress left. "Yo, welcome," he said without a smile.
"Mm, am I? I don't see no drinks," she smiled, resting her chin in her hand as she eyed his tired face.
The barcode tattoo on his neck stood out against his fair skin, making his dark circles even more noticeable. He looked around her age or perhaps a year older.
His vest had a holographic tag that read "Qimmeq [KEE-mek]"
He managed to return her smile as he set a coaster down. "The welcome is on the house," he said, locking eyes with her for a moment before turning to a row of glasses.
"The drinks, though, aren't. We've got Elixir tonight, so you can pick either a light or dark red one - that's all. No more options." Qimmeq said this with no excitement.
Ratelsi raised an eyebrow at his flat tone, amused.
Poor guy must've had a rough shift. It was a shame society made Peculiars work for such little pay. Life would be easy for them if they weren't used to this habit.
Her vertical pupils gleamed, catching the neon lights from the multi-tiered bar where holographic labels floated above the glass bottles. Several people were seated around the bar, but they were either too drunk or too engrossed in their own conversations to eavesdrop.
"I'll have a Vacci. Add a twist of lemon, light on the Blyss. Stirred, of course." Ratelsi ordered warmly, hoping to come off as friendly.
"Yeah, sure," Qimmeq replied, barely interested, as he reached for a bottle of Vacci Tartlet and popped it open. He poured a stream of thick crimson liquid into her glass and squeezed in some lemon, then added a couple drops of Blyss from a vial.
The yellow drops instantly disappeared into the dark red.
"Scintillare", he muttered, snapping his fingers over the glass. Sparks shot out, showering for a moment before fading into patterns of smoke that circulated the rim like a crown. Qimmeq set the drink on the coaster and nudged it toward Ratelsi, who could hardly hide her excitement.
It looked totally like an Elixir!
"That'll be fifty Creds," he said coldly, making her freeze and frown just as she was about to grab it.
"Huh? Is that for the drink or the show?"
"For the drink, the show, and a little assurance that you can actually pay for it." He pointed at the smoky swirl. "That's not just garnish, y'know. It's part of the entertainment."
Unwilling to accept this, Ratelsi rolled her eyes, scoffing. "Pssh. Please. Seriously?"
Fifty Creds felt a bit much for a drink that wasn't even that fancy. But she was running low on wealth, so Ratelsi shrugged off her annoyance and said, "Just put it on Aqqa's tab."
Qimmeq raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by her spunk. He really looked at her, as though seeing her for the first time. "Uh, I didn't know you rolled with Broco's crew."
His voice suddenly betrayed a nervousness that wasn't there before. Sensing an opportunity, Ratelsi traced her finger along the glass rim, encouraging him to say more.
She took a sip, maintaining eye contact with Qimmeq as he straightened up into a somewhat respectful stance. He now saw her as someone with influence, or at least someone tied to a figure he couldn't afford to cross.
That's how it always was; if you had connections with the infamous, suspicions were far easier to avoid. So, of course, he had questions... like what kind of connection a Peculiar like her had with Broco that allowed her to access his resources so casually.
For the sake of rapport, she decided to feed his curiosity.
"Well, you could say he's my…boss," Ratelsi said, shrugging lazily but spitting the last word with such venom that her eyes, resentful, glowed with fury. Qimmeq caught it but quickly brushed it aside, assuming she was just a frustrated Merc dealing with a boss who clearly got on her nerves.
He just typed in a few commands on the holographic screen to erase the price of her drink. Just like that, the vibe between them shifted from suspicious to oddly…trusting?
Anyway, the more she spoke with him, the better. With fewer distractions, maybe she'd have time to carry out her discreet inquiries.
Ratelsi thought about how to get Qimmeq to open up without making him feel like he was being grilled for intel. If she came off too nosy, he might clam up, so she needed to be smooth about it.
"Have you-"
"Why are you-"
They both stopped short, taken aback by their overlapping interruptions. Then Qimmeq slapped his head, laughing. "You go ahead," he said.
"Ah, it's all good," Ratelsi waved it off.
Tilting his head, Qimmeq's lips curled in a half-grin, and he said, "Well, not tryna pry or shit, but you're hanging out here while your boss is up there with some clients. Why? Isn't that kind of against protocols or something?"
Ratelsi blinked. Huh, would you look at that?
And they say fortune doesn't favour the bold.
She bared her canines, extremely pleased with this turn of events. Spinning a paper straw between her fingers, she then pointed it like a sword, speaking slowly to gauge his reaction. "Actually, I'm a runner, not his security. My partner and I are just here to drop something off."
Ratelsi plunged the straw into the drink, the ice clinking softly. "But go ahead, I'm all ears for whatever you've got to say."
She brought it to her lips, eyes narrowing in anticipation, and took a long, exaggerated slurp. A satisfied "ahh" followed as she smacked her lips and grinned.
"Right," Qimmeq said calmly. Though he spoke with an impish expression, she knew she'd aroused his interest.
Clearly, he was no rookie at this. Being an informant was second nature for him, and he was aware she needed something only he had. Luckily for her, he genuinely enjoyed chatting about the latest gossip. Whether he was paid or not didn't really matter.
Knowing he probably had info she could use was more than enough to keep him invested in the conversation.
Qimmeq began wiping the counter with a clean cloth.
"So, I was just clocking in, yeah?" he spoke, wiping slowly. "I noticed these two people with Broco heading to the elevator, with his crew tagging along. They seemed pretty close, like a couple. But they're definitely not the usual posse Broco hangs with."
At the mention of that little detail, a slightly evil smile appeared at the corner of Ratelsi's lips. Her casual facade almost slipped away as she flashed a victorious smirk, showing off her canines. "What's up with that?" she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.
Clearly enjoying the moment, Qimmeq took a dramatic pause and leaned in.
"I mean, y'know Broco's type - loud, big egos, all bling and shit. But these guys were younger, more posh, totally different vibe. But the one dude had these unusual tattoos on his neck with bright purple eyes. Not the kinda stuff you'd typically overlook."
Ratelsi furrowed her forehead. She unconsciously turned to glance towards Timoth, who was still chatting away with the Peculiars by the atrium. Khil had his arm around Timoth's shoulder like they were old pals. She was about to frown when her partner caught her eye, grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.
Then he returned to his conversation.
Ratelsi shifted her focus back to Qimmeq, who was now inspecting a glass like he was searching for fingerprints. Her patience was wearing thin, obvious by her talons drumming impatiently on the counter. Time was ticking. Broco was expecting them, Vesir could show up at any minute, and this guy….
"But his girl?" Qimmeq continued talking. "Man, she was turning heads all around…" He trailed off, probably struggling to find the right words to describe how stunning this lady was. "You could just tell she was someone special…"
Putting everything together, Ratelsi mumbled, "Tattooed guy and a knockout chick," concluding that these clients could be some affluent Peculiars. "Got any names? Maybe one goes by EXON?"
Finally, Qimmeq put the glass down, looking thoughtful. "Definitely a unique name. But nah, I've got zilch. I just spotted them from afar, that's all."
With feigned disappointment, Ratelsi said, "Aw, Qimmeq. You're gonna bail on me right when things are getting interesting?"
Naturally, he was quick to pick up on it. She could tell because the poor guy began to rub his temples, trying to squeeze more details out of his skull. A mischievous glint danced on her face.
Wasn't it wild how the need for validation could make a person drop their pride just so they can prove their worth?
Qimmeq basked in the role of a storyteller, feeding Ratelsi's curiosity while satisfying his own need to feel important. All he needed to do was trade his pride for performance, hoping she would value them.
Maybe she did...
Half-lidded amber eyes narrowed in amusement at this predictable behaviour. Ratelsi found his eagerness to impress kind of entertaining, which only boosted her sense of superiority in the conversation.
"Ugh, I got zilch fr!" he sighed with mild frustration, but it quickly disappeared as a knowing smirk returned. "Be real with me… They're not just here to party, are they?"
Heh..If only you knew what kind of shenanigans these douches were really here for..You'd probably shit your pants if you knew what I had with me right now.
While she'd love to see that, Ratelsi skillfully avoided a direct answer, saying, "Can't help you there, dude. That kind of info's waay beyond my paycheck. You know how this shit goes - I'm not looped on the classified stuff."
Qimmeq let out a sarcastic chuckle, making it clear he wasn't buying her fib but wasn't interested in digging deeper. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. I get it."
Feeling pleased, Ratelsi pushed her empty glass aside as she stood up. "You're super easy to talk to; I didn't even notice how long we've been at it." She grabbed a cherry off a fruit bowl, tossing it into her mouth.
"This was fun. But, uh, I've got to take off now…" She waved quickly without waiting for a reply and left, leaving a somewhat flattered Qimmeq blinking in surprise.
Perfect! Absolutely Perfect!
That whole double Creds thing was legit. She had every reason to believe she'd done the right thing, and the excitement almost drowned out her worries about the incriminating stuff she had tucked away in her. To reassure herself, Ratelsi ran her fingers over the bulging bottom of her pocket.
Everything was going smoothly, that is, until she felt a looming presence by the VR machines.
She paused, alert, as her senses sharpened. It reeked of…bloodlust - desire she knew all too well and could recognize even in her sleep. Ratelsi grinned like a predator, her pupils stretching into thinner ovals as if she'd caught the scent of prey.
She turned around.
By the elevator where they should've been standing was Vesir. Wiry with a shaved head and dark-skinned, her milky eyes were obscured by sunglasses, but Ratelsi recognized the dusty, worn leather coat over a black vest and combat pants. Vesir looked every bit the Merc, with her dual-bladed tonfas sitting comfortably beneath the folds of her coat.
A repulsive look crept onto Vesir's face as Ratelsi reached for her HoloSmart. Ignoring the obvious threat behind that look, she quickly texted Timoth: Got the info we need. Make for the VRMs. Vesir's watching, so play it cool.
Just then, Timoth's HoloSmart buzzed on his wrist, interrupting his chat with Khil and Illu. "Hang on a sec," he said with a laugh as he turned away from the group. Once he read Ratelsi's message, he instinctively glanced in her direction.
She nodded at their waiting escort, signalling him that it was time to move.
Suddenly feeling anxious, Timoth hesitated with his thumb over the reply button but gathered himself and typed: Stay put. I'm on my way. He then fist-bumped the intoxicated Peculiars, who were a bit reluctant to see him leave, before smoothly slipping away.
Holding the bags, Timoth strolled across the main floor toward the VR machines where Ratelsi was waiting. He stopped next to her, saying, "Seems like Broco's brought in a couple of newcomers today, and I think I made a few friends too."
His words about his new "friends" seemed a bit too eager for Ratelsi, so she shot him a fierce look that made him shiver. Her darkened expression said more than his words ever could. Still, a crooked grin broke out on his face as he teased, "What? Jealous?"
"Oh, please, you thinking I'm jealous is adorable."
"You were totally glarin' at me."
"Was not."
"Mm-hmm, sure…"
Ratelsi rolled her eyes but mirrored his smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Anyway, looks like Qim was right."
"Qim?"
"Yeah, buzz cut and khakis over there by the bar."
"Oh, got it."
"So, turns out we're really getting double the pay. And based on the gist, we're working with some high-profile Peculiars, possibly from Balun," she said, glancing at Qimmeq, who was too busy making drinks to notice her.
An intrigued "oh" escaped Timoth's lips as his eyes widened with interest. "So even the elite among rags make appearances, huh? Haven't seen one in ages," he remarked.
"Right?" Ratelsi chuckled, nudging his side. "Alright, c'mon, let's bounce."
They quickly did their special handshake before heading toward the elevator.