2/2

Sonya wondered if she never saw it before because she had become immune to the air and feeling of a suppressed population, or if it really was just worse the farther one got from the capital of the USSR. She had spent a lot of time, probably more than was healthy, avoiding everything remotely social in her youngest years in this life.

Ignoring everything, actually.

It hadn't seemed that bad to her but then again, she had become used to it. Used to the heavy feeling of oppression and a fracturing social order trying to re-secure itself. It had become normal to her.

It was, now that she had a look at both sides of the equation, clear that the Soviet Union wouldn't outlive what Rachel had known. It was already breaking down, the Berlin Wall and the growing social movement in Czechoslovakia would spread out to this country. From here to the USSR itself.

Which, she was semi-sure, wouldn't fall the same way.

The underworld, and more specifically the Mafiya world that was likely greater in number and more influential here and now, probably had their fingers in a couple pies the fall of the Soviet Union would ruin.

Mafiya people like Sonya were slightly capitalists no matter the views of their birth countries, they liked getting paid for their work first then doled out however much for their expenses for their next job.

However, for all her work in Mafia Land and her nest egg from her jewelry heists, she was still more communist than anyone in her old birth country would've been comfortable with. Her tithing the Zolotov clan was just her preparing for any possibility of injury or illness that would make her bedridden for any significant stretch of time, and firmly within that school of thought.

The vor and their attached people like Arseniy and Lisa were communists through and through, who tithed the clan their proceeds and were taken care of by the clan in return. Their clan owned the home they raised their foster kids within, the clan also took care of the cost of housing and the food bill in return for their services.

They were all still Soviet Union members, and so they outwardly supported the communist faction so long as their country did no matter the slight capitalist tendencies many of them had. It worked for them, because they were already criminals and didn't tend to fuss where the living expenses and lifestyles of others came from.

Sonya, through the grace of Rachel's once-life, wasn't quite the good little communist Russian girl she probably should've been. Never had been, given she had half expected her birth country to still fall the same way it had in another reality/life.

Which didn't address the problem of Bjǫrn and the impact the Finnish preteen would make on her finances.

The thief planted her face in her hands and thought hard.

She had only very minor things for Bjǫrn to do, but since she did grab the kid she was responsible for ensuring he had work or something to do to keep him out of trouble. She had no responsibility to his health or anything outside of what she set him to do until and unless she wanted him specifically trained for something, but she was still in a mostly unstated agreement to provide work.

Which also meant she had to pay for said work.

Sonya had planned on only herself in this little hiatus from theft, which would get slightly bolstered when she went back to Mafia Land and completed a handful of additional contracts.

Herself and a little minion was a different story, for all that Bjǫrn wasn't constrained by a circus' working hours and could probably run errands to the island for her.

...eventually. Once she or someone else taught him how to defend himself better than just standing there and taking it.

She would not be formally taking the Finnish brat on as a personal assistant or helper unless that changed. Thus, Bjǫrn had the option to leave her for better work elsewhere without her protesting unless she wanted to be a bitch. Which also meant she still wasn't going to be trusting him with sensitive things anytime soon.

However, she was still employing him which meant he was probably going to run into something she wanted hidden for the time being. Dying Will Flame use was very... visible, unless a friendly Mist was around to conceal it.

The whole situation made the Soviet Storm-Cloud uneasy, but there was little more she could do. Bjǫrn had already proved he wasn't leaving, she couldn't afford to hire him as a permanent minion, meaning a middle ground had to be found.

To make it worse, she still didn't trust her Finnish or his French to ensure no confusion happened in any conversation. That situation needed time to resolve, and she wasn't entirely sure it would have said time before something happened.

At the very least, she could hope to be within range of Moscow before anything too upsetting occurred.

CXXVI (Wednesday the 26th of October, 1966. Smolensk, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic.)

After half a year playing at being a gypsy woman's fortune teller apprentice in a circus, Sonya's daily life fell into a very repetitive pattern.

Once the Groβes Volksfest had arrived in a new town, everyone pitched in to set the circus up. Including Madame Crina and her thief of a draw girl. That would take two days, since everything had to be tested or inspected to ensure it was in working condition or appropriately mended for showing off.

The nights of those two days would be when Sonya went looking for more underworld watering holes or just poking around at the new town to get a measure of its residents.

Day three, which generally was a Saturday, in any town or village would normally be the day the circus opened. Meaning mid-morning to the wee hours of the next morning were spoken for.

The Russian had branched out for that part out of sheer self-preservation, because while she could apparently fake some social interactions well enough she didn't like the press of crowds.

Several hours were reserved with pulling more people into Madame Crina' grips by faking a mysterious air and speaking nonsense in the hopes someone was superstitious enough to pay attention, but that wasn't all she could do for those days.

The stage magic tricks ended up being something she could do without being expected to speak much. Pulling scarves out of pockets in her sleeves, pulling small pieces of candy or coins out of 'midair', and even the odd card trick was usually more than enough to entertain children.

The knife tricks, and knife juggling if she was forced to be honest, was something Sonya reserved for much later.

She couldn't guarantee she would never be knocked into and miss catching a dagger, after all. Best not to risk dropping one on some poor kid.

On the alternating months Faris had a slot juggling or breathing fire in the big top shows, the thief got to ditch being a wandering attraction and instead help him. While not a very visible role, it did help her be less overwhelmed by the crowds and a nice break now and again.

Jiayi kept trying to get her into the trapeze act, and the Russian kept on dodging the tiny Chinese woman. She had more than enough to do already, and she really didn't have any fond feelings for the art.

If they were lucky, the circus would be set up for more than one day. Even if not, after the show hours were over with packing up took significantly less time than setting the circus up.

Moving between cities and towns could be interesting, because depending on where they were affected the method of moving. Rail lines were preferred, as then everything was shipped overnight including the performers themselves. Occasionally waterways were used instead, sometimes a mix of the two if they were just crossing rivers or lakes to a nearby city or town.

Every now and again, though, there weren't any alternate options available and they had to hoof it. Trucks would handle the heavier stuff, the carnival rides and booths but mainly the big top, then alternate shipping would have to be found for the rest of the tents and equipment. They had not, yet, had to try transporting everything with only the circus folk to do that with, but everyone was aware that might happen if they were unlucky.

Sonya had added Bjǫrn to her, which meant she needed to pay the kid for enough work for him to afford something hot to eat every day, someplace clean to sleep, and his ticket to the next town via whatever method being used. She eventually started sending him out to locate the underworld watering holes for her, getting him to scour the rumor mill for who was top dog in whatever region, and maybe off to buy things for her instead of going out to get them herself.

Bjǫrn rapidly got better in French with her demands to try and fulfill.

That first month with him dodging her steps was still hard, because the thief had to independently confirm whatever he was trying to tell her. Half because she wasn't sure how far to trust the kid and half to correct his atrociously spoken and handwritten French.

Immersion was a very sink or swim way to learn a language, a method both she and her brother suffered through under Lisa to gain a competence in foreign languages. Bjǫrn, who had only Madame Crina that could understand his Finnish until he started working on broadening her grip on his native language, learned that the hard way.

By the time that first month ended, the Groβes Volksfest had returned to Moscow and was starting in on working up the money to afford semi-decent winter quarters for the performers.

At the end of the October month of 1966, Sonya went to Master Liam and gained permission to leave for her winter business. Giving Cherep a hard hug goodbye and a promise to return before the end of February next year, the thief grabbed her Finnish errand boy and dragged him to their childhood home.

CXXVII (Thursday the 27th of October, 1966. Arseniy & Lisa's home, Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic.)

Arseniy eyed Bjǫrn critically as he ate, who Sonya had sat firmly in the chair on the opposite side of the table from the vor. The street rat from Finland looked slightly unnerved by the scrutiny, but the thief was a little more distracted answering Lisa's questions after suffering through a rib-cracking hug.

"I can't take him with me, Lisa. Until I can actually employ him and be sure of his loyalty I won't risk myself by taking an unknown like him along." She palmed her face tiredly, running her mind through everything she had to do yet that winter. "I've got too much to do, and in order to afford actually hiring him I have to go find something lucrative to do. However, I can't do it when he's with me because I don't trust him that much."

"So, what do you want us to do with him?" Inquired the older woman simply, setting another two plates down so her foster daughter and her tagalong could eat too.

"Teach him to speak fluently in French, please?" Sonya picked up her fork, glancing over to the vor. "And maybe have him run a couple errands. I'll provide the ready cash to pay him from, I just need him elsewhere so I can afford him."

"Any reason you can't just set him down somewhere and come back later?" Arseniy asked idly, which the younger woman didn't trust at all because the man was playing with a knife when he asked.

A hard or scrambling life on the streets or as a minor runner for whoever had aged Bjǫrn more than he had years. Although she now knew the kid was twelve, he did look almost like a gangly if slight fourteen. At a glance, Arseniy's vor outlook pegged him old enough to be responsible for his own actions.

"He followed me from Finland all the way to Czechoslovakia, and I did nothing but prevent him from suffering the rest of a beating." The thief seriously gave some thought to what Bjorn may or may not have been or been up to before she gracelessly tripped into saving him. "I might have accidentally made him a pariah in his hometown, or maybe he just wanted something exotically different to do with his life. We can't hold an in-depth conversation like that with our language skills so diverse. So that's part of the reason why I'm asking."

Lisa pursed her lips slightly, giving the Finnish boy a hard look over of her own. "I can see why you would want that kind of perseverance if he's got a good reason for it, and I understand why you would bring him here to at least try to figure it out. So, I'll say yes so long as you understand you owe me a very good birthday present sweetie."

Well, that was one down. Sonya turned to Arseniy, who looked just as unimpressed as he always was. "...because you like me best?"

The vor snorted, a very dry smirk pulling up one side of his mouth. "Are you sure about that?"

She nibbled on lunch a bit, nodding slowly. "I'm the one you let take on your name."

"I let your boy do it too." He pointed out blandly.

"Because of me. So, if we had to use our foster sibling relationship as a cover for any sneaky things it wouldn't seem too odd that we didn't share a name." She finished for him, batting her lashes at her foster father. "I need to know if I can trust him, so while I handle my other responsibilities I brought him to people I do trust. Aren't you flattered?"

"It would be very depressing if you couldn't trust us, girl." The man countered, almost lazily.

"True, I would cry." Sonya couldn't quite keep her face straight as she said it, causing Lisa to snicker to herself.

Arseniy's mouth gave an unwilling twitch into a more real smile.

All the kids had learned a happy Lisa was the way to get the vor's approval, and they were Mafiya trained so of course they took ruthless advantage of that chink in his stony armor when they could. That, and the fact the man sucked at handling things when the waterworks appeared which everyone but Bjorn in the room knew that full well, had Arseniy giving in with a sigh.

"No more than four months, right?"

"Probably less." Conceded the former pickpocket thoughtfully, tapping her fork's tines on the side of her plate. "I have a way to pay back a favor I owe an associate for some help he gave me last year, and there's five contracts I need to do between now and February of next year. I promised Cherep I'd be back before the end of February, start of March, so there's that."

"Hmph." Arseniy bit into his pelmen as if it had insulted him, glowing at Bjorn enough the kid shrank back from the table a little. "I want you to spend a couple days getting used to some of the newer locks and safes on the market, Sonya. Then you might want to present yourself to Aleksandr for a day as well. I'll agree to housing your brat so long as you do."

"I was going to ask if I could." The thief agreed wryly, pushing the remaining half of her food over to the Finnish street rat so the kid could eat until he wasn't hungry anymore.

Lisa would fix that, too.

If Sonya had the time, she'd investigate maybe scheduling a check-up at the Mafia Land hospital for the kid. If not this year then next.

She set her spine against the chair's back, crossing her arms under her slight chest and looked around the kitchen curiously while everyone else ate.

Not much had changed since she and Cherep had 'run away to join the circus', but it did feel decidedly odd being back here again.

It might have been the lack of Tatiana's vinyl record player cranking out some bohemian pop, no clangs of metal or the odd thump from her brother messing with whatever mechanical thing he had gotten ahold of lately, or even just the fact that Bjorn was sitting next to her.

It was still odd. Rachel hadn't gotten to this point of her life, where she could visit old childhood haunts and feel too big for them, so it was her first experience at it.

She didn't think she liked it much.

CXXVIII (Saturday the 29th of October, 1966. Mafia Land.)

Renato met her on the docks, which earned him a dubious look from the Russian thief.

For one, she hadn't sent word to him exactly when she'd be arriving or what way she'd get to Mafia Land by. For another, the fact he knew anyways was kind of creepy.

No one, not even Sonya, was happy to see a hitman waiting for them no matter where they were or what was promised to said man. "I... would say it is a pleasure to see you again, Renato, but actually...?"

"I'm aware, thank you." The Italian gritted out, shifting back on his heels and uncrossing his arms as she wandered up to him. Dark eyes flicked to the other passengers disembarking with her, some of whom were cringing away from him.

That might have to do with the near air of irritation he had to him, but Sonya wasn't betting on it.

"How soon are you free?"

"I have only a few errands to run. A duck into the Thieves' Hall and checking in with the fences on pieces I have commissioned them to sell for me from old jobs, but that's about it."

She also had to set up somewhere for her to stay at least a week, because she wasn't sure if this would go faster or slower than Usov's situation. That would have to wait until she could get a grip on the situation.

Actually, she could probably cut the visit to her hall for now. Until she knew when she'd no longer be needed at a baby Mist's side she wouldn't have an idea of what deadlines she could abide to.

Renato unbent a bit further, snatching up the larger piece of luggage she had with her. "Where are you planning on staying?"

"A hotel, probably nearby where you live, but I need to see your baby wisp first." That got her a sideways look from the Mafioso, and she couldn't do more than shrug. "Until I know what will be needed or how long it might take, best not to plan too far ahead."

"...you may wish to know..."

"Did he scare himself?" At the almost unwilling, disgruntled, barely there nod Sonya tried hard not to smirk.

His baby Mist had probably all but made Renato's apartment, assuming that was where the hitman has stashed the kid, unlivable. Usov had done the same to a very large chunk of the near mansion/office complex the Zolotov Clan operated out of. Renato's baby Mist had probably done something similar in scope.

"I can fix that."

"Can you?"

"One word, Renato. Disintegration."

"Storms, right." He hefted her luggage over one shoulder and started off, in the direction of the more residential sectors of the illegal island held.

Any hope she had that this wouldn't paint a very big target on herself or him died a messy death the moment she got a good look at the hitman's apartment complex.

His baby Mist was apparently even stronger than Usov had been. The Construction illusions barring the way to him had spread out in a tangled webbing of...

...was that fishing line?

Nets, too, the kind someone would transport fish from boat to dock in. Complete with algae ridden weights and buoys. It laced around the building from specific exits, stringing closed several outdoor walkways and probably clogging up the inner ones as well.

Sonya eyed the building, even from five streets down, and the crowd that had gathered to gawk.

She would privately bet there was fishing tackle and anchors twisted up in there too. It fit with the fisherman theme going on. "Renato..."

"I know." There was a thread of frustration in his voice, and enough disgust it caused her to look fully at him. "But I can't get to the brat to shake him out of this with everything in the way. And if you need to destroy some of the building-"

"Nothing so drastic." The Russian cut him off with an eye roll, shoving the smaller traveling pack that held her overnight things into his free arm. "Give me fifteen, then try to make your way in."

"Three-thirteen." At her inquiring look, the man rolled his eyes back at her even as he set her luggage down next to his shiny black shoes. "My apartment number."

"Mmm... right, wish me luck." She didn't wait to see if he would or not, she immediately headed for the service tunnel entrance in a nearby apartment complex.

She didn't really want to deal with that many people, who would undoubtedly want to know what the hell was going on and who fixed the situation if she could. Renato could tell them whatever he wanted, so long as he kept her or baby Mist brat out of it.

She'd slap him one if he didn't. Hard.

The underground service tunnels were just as clogged up as the surface entrances to the building she wanted, but her contract employee ID was enough to let the service staff to allow her to start using her Storm Flames to eat away at the Mist ones in privacy. There weren't any active users among them, or at least no other Storms, so they crept along in Sonya's wake instead before breaking off to handle whatever.

As it had been a year ago, the stronger the concentration of Mist Flame Constructions were slinking out of the gaps around Renato's apartment door. The closer she got the harder it was, and the more Storm Flames it required from her to clear a way.

She didn't use the red Flames much, and whatever control she got from this would probably weigh in little next to how much easier it would be to call on the destructive fire afterwards. By the time she stumbled into the hitman's apartment, mentally swearing to replace the lock herself after melting it and part of the door off, she was not a happy thief.

She was in fact a very tired thief.

The kid she extracted from the nest of fishing net under the tiny kitchen table was similarly exhausted though, so she decided they were going to crash on the hitman's couch for a few minutes.

Baby Mist kid only stirred after they had laid there in a daze for a while, cracking his brown eyes open to give her a suspicious glare before almost spitting out a question in rapid Italian. "Are you miss Sonya?"

She cocked her head to the side, eyeing the brat sprawled across her chest warily. "Yeah, Renato told you about me then?"

He nodded slowly, still inspecting her suspiciously. "I'm Shamal."

Sonya, bemusedly, shook the tiny hand thrust at her face politely. Then the name registered, and she felt ice slide down her spine.

Shamal?

As in Trident Shamal?

That perverted asshole doctor-assassin the Sun Arcobaleno called up when something medical was needed?

That was this kid?

"Did you have to melt my door?" Renato asked acidly as he shoved it more open for his bigger frame, lightly tossing Sonya's luggage into a nearby corner.

"I did not have to, but melting my way up here was tiring enough I did not have the patience to pick it instead." She informed him, a little inanely, still caught up on that tiny fact of the baby Mist's name.

...was Renato actually Reborn?

CXXIX (Saturday the 29th of October, 1966 continued. Renato's Apartment, Mafia Land.)

Eyeing the young Russian blonde bombshell sprawled gracelessly out on his probably rather uncomfortable couch, Renato bit his tongue against another sarcastic observation and gestured for an equally as drowsy looking Shamal to the kitchenette part of his apartment.

Sonya was way, way too pale under her recently acquired tan. If she was anything like him then food would help, and something hot and sweet for the time being. She'd probably prefer tea to coffee, but he didn't have anything but the beans in his cupboards.

Luckily Shamal's fear or paranoia inspired Mist Constructs had rapidly faded once he was removed from contact with them and suitably distracted by the thief's appearance. He might have gone a bit overboard scaring the brat into obedience, if he worked himself up to smother the apartment complex with illusions without a clear grasp on what he was doing.

Kids were not the hitman's thing. Especially likely traumatized little boys that decided to leak uncontrolled Mist Flames like a busted pipe. Shamal wasn't quite to the point of being able to control himself reliably yet, and the probably typical nightmares spurred his lack of control to even more unmanageable heights.

"Renato, exactly how did young Shamal end up with you?" Sonya asked quietly, still in Italian, the heel of her left palm rubbing her eye tiredly.

"...I knew his father." Renato forced out between gritted teeth.

If she asked, he was sort of expected to tell her since she was here to help him. That wasn't a story he wanted to spill in front of the kid until he was old enough to think rationally about it.

"So... how old is he?"

That drew him up short, and he shot the brat a look to try and judge the answer from appearance alone. "...five."

Shamal puffed up his tiny chest, but she snorted quietly behind the two of them. "I would've guessed three from how lanky he is."

Baby Mist turned and scowled at her, edging into Renato's personal space enough to gain him a sharp look for that alone. "I'm not a baby. I'm almost four."

"So, three and a half. At most." Spoke the thief levelly, as if it was inconsequential.

It wasn't, not nearly as much as she was pretending. The hitman tried rather hard not to throw his coffee maker into a wall, because that would probably startle the boy.

Sparking another outpour of Mist Flames he would have to try containing before the rest of the island learned there was a very young, very vulnerable Mist living in the apartment building for the time being.

Somehow Sonya was suddenly on her feet and approached him obviously, slim fingers prying his own off the death grip he had on the coffee pot.

"Calm down before you scare him."

The bland smile on her face was a stark contrast to the hissed out words, probably too low for the kid to pay attention to since he was more wary of her person that what she was saying.

Renato concentrated on getting his control over his temper back as she poured them coffee and got Shamal a glass of water. She left his black but repurposed his milk to add to her own.

"Are you Mister Renato's lady friend?"

"I supposed you could say that, yes." The Russian replied calmly, some rather fancy footwork pulling the only kitchen chair around so she could collapse onto it. "I am a girl, and we are... friends... mostly."

Not quite as graceful as she normally was, obviously the expenditure of so much Storm Flames was still affecting her somewhat.

His mind then caught up to what she had claimed and almost choked on his next sip.

Sonya ignored him and any expression he might have been making, setting her mug down and squarely looking at Shamal seriously so he'd answer honestly. "Alright, I'm going to need to know what you know about Mist Flames. What you know you can do, what you guess you might be able to do, and what you want to do with it."

Said baby Mist blinked wide brown eyes at her innocently. "What are Mist Flames?"

Her expression went from politely inquiring to flat.

"...perfect. Just perfect." She shot him a blistering look, obviously annoyed. "Mist Flames are one of the seven types of Dying Will Flames of the Sky..."

CXXX (Saturday the 29th of October, 1966 continued. Renato's Apartment, Mafia Land.)

Dinner ended up being Chinese takeout, because Sonya had to go through the entirety of what Flames were and what they could do with a damn three-year-old.

Excuse her, a three-and-a-half-year-old. Who, like any child everywhere, asked too many questions all at the same time. Which made it take even longer to get through the basics than it should have.

She couldn't decide if Renato had refrained from clarifying what the hell was going on with the kid out of politeness, since she had promised to help him with Shamal, or out of curiosity over what she knew of the subject.

The Russian thief also could not get up the energy to really bother worrying about it either.

Storm Flames weren't her primary ones, or even the easiest to control either. Shamal, by the grace of a young and uncluttered mind, had poured a lot of himself into his Construction based illusions. Probably more than was healthy, too.

Popping Mist Constructs of that kind of purity had been harder, especially since they hadn't been made from unwilling fear.

As apparently, from the story she awkwardly prompted out of the kid, it was something his late father had instructed him to do if he was somewhere he shouldn't have been and uncertain.

Purposely done illusions were stronger than unwilling Constructions, meaning a dab of Storm Flames hadn't been enough by half.

The hitman had told him to stay indoors and away from windows while he was gone, and Shamal had lost his father recently enough to be unsure of everything. Hence why the thief found him under the table in a cocoon of his own Mist Flames.

Sonya had a headache by the time the brat's bedtime came around, and she couldn't decide if it was just the stress of travel, the day she had, the lack of nicotine, or just the situation causing said headache.

"Sonya?"

"The hell are you going to do with a three-year-old?"

Renato shrugged idly, a bit too stiffly to be really that nonchalant. "I know a place."

The young woman sniffed at the non-answer but let that go. It wasn't really her business. "I... need to get some sleep."

He frowned faintly, glancing between her, the clock, and back to the hallway the young Mist had been escorted down when he got way too tired to continue. "You could stay."

She shot him a suspicious look. This was likely way out of the Mafioso's comfort zone, and no one wanted to be around edgy or uncomfortable hitmen.

Then she rethought the situation to include baby Mist boy likely asleep not fifteen yards from her. "...your couch is uncomfortable."

Baby Mist who had no other security than the not-so-obviously stressed out contract killer.

It was entirely out of her comfort zone too.

"I highly doubt I'll be getting much sleep." He responded rather dryly, leaning his lanky frame up against the wall. "You can use my bed."

She blinked at him blankly.

"So long as you don't steal anything."

"I," she insisted with blatantly faked injured innocence, "have never stolen from you."

Which was likely a very, very good thing. Especially if Renato really was Reborn, and she had been unknowingly socializing with a young version of the next Arcobaleno of the Sun.

Why the hell she never made any connection like that in her head before this was something she intended to sit and think about sometime soon.

"You, little lady Sonya, are a thief. The fact you haven't yet stolen from me is suspicious."

Said thief snorted harshly. "This coming from the one that harassed me first?"

Renato waved one hand as if to dismiss the point. "I have no idea what you may be talking about."

Sonya eyed him sourly, then forced herself to sit up. "More seriously, I have to run two contracts before New Year's. Two or three next year before I leave again next year before the spring thaw sets in back in Moscow. I do not know how fast or slow this is going to be, because your Shamal kid does not trust me."

"At least he listens to me."

"That is not exactly helping me right now, Renato."

The hitman's features twisted, but if it was supposed to have been a smirk or a grimace she wasn't sure. "You've gotten things out of him."

"Yes, but he looks to you first to see if he should speak or not." Rubbing a hand up one side of her neck, the thief set her chin on the palm of her hand and blew out a sigh. "I am also rather sure he has discounted about half or more of what I have already told him as not true, which will make this take even longer."

"Some of the things you've said I haven't heard before." Pointed out the Italian, as if that was cause enough.

"I have references."

He gave her a long look, then tilted his head back slightly. "Ho? Really. With you?"

Alright, tired or not she still knew he was fishing there. "You damage my books, I will damage you."

"With you, then." Eying her luggage speculatively, the Mafioso pushed off the wall and stalked to the middle of his open kitchenette/living room. "You should get some sleep, Sonya."

Huffing, the thief kept right where she was and frowned up at him.

"More complaints?"

"I can smoke in a hotel room." She offered sarcastically, as if that was more important than the effort it would involve to drag herself and her luggage to a nearby hotel. "I also will not have to worry about jumpy, trigger-happy hitmen that might shoot me in the morning."

"It's late enough the night-life is out and about." He countered smugly, not addressing his state of health which probably meant he was fully aware he wasn't in the best condition. "You don't like to be on the streets at this time of the day."

"You know, it is a little creepy how well you know my movements." Spoke the Storm-Cloud as if talking to the air, more than a little disgruntled. "Am I going to have to worry about stalkers?"

"Of course not, it's not like I'd let myself get caught that way."

She gave him the most disgusted look she could, which predictably bounced off his arrogance without leaving a scratch.

"...the small messenger bag in my backpack has a box of gemstones and two books. Leave the stones alone, I don't know enough about gems to tell them apart without labels and those are for Shamal."

"Gemstones? As in...?"

"Ever see those Flame conducting rings?" Sonya gave him a truly sly smirk. "I started out as a jewel thief, you know."

"No, I didn't know." Renato informed her slowly. "But... that is interesting."