Infection

Rogier Maxwell Finnegan, who is currently going by the pseudonym Phineas Caldwell, was more than satisfied with himself. Not only had he just tricked some revolutionaries into exposing themselves, but he has also ordered one of his boys to telephone the authorities. All he had to do now was preoccupy them until the sheriff's posse arrives, and he could even do that over a drink. To which, he was already two shots of Dema down. Though he had to stop there with the warm concoction. Not because he would get drunk or tipsy, but because it would make him eager to put his tip into something. Specifically, the big titty, bartender who he has been sharing glances with. For most, those glances would just been a seductive maneuver to entice horny drunks into buying more alcohol until they are inevitably kicked out by the bouncers. Rogier, ever the ladies' man, knew better.

He could tell when a woman wants someone, or something. The secret to his success was not just their face but their whole being. He learned at a very young age that everything from the way someone walks, talks, looks around, or even dreams will tell you more about someone than they are aware. And that learning these things makes it easier to both stay out the way and get what you want. However, none of that meant anything without patience, secrecy, and especially discipline. Things his mentor, rest his soul, drilled into his very mind. But one thing Rogier was always better at than his mentor was blending in. A serious man is taken seriously, but a fool is not; and most people are fools. So, sure he would have berated Rogier for drinking and flirting on the job, but his mentor would not have hit his mark without causing a scene and catching the attention of other bounty hunters. To which, Rogier expertly avoided. So, while he waited for his marks to plot and scheme, Rogier decided to reward himself.

"Another drink, please." Rogier smiled wickedly as the ripened bartender passed by.

*

"Tell me the plan one more time." Octavian ordered, leaning against the side of the saloon with his arms folded. He should have been inside by now, but he had to make sure they had a new plan formed and that Sasha would at least remember it.

"Ugh," Sasha groaned. "I go up to the second floor of the saloon and watch out for you from there."

"What else?" Octavian asked, tilting his head slightly. To which Sasha rolled her eyes.

"If everything goes well, I stay behind a bit to make sure nobody tries anything, but if things go sideways, I'll distract them while you escape and then I make my escape too. Which all seems to put me in way more danger than you." Sasha said accusingly, folding her arms with a huff.

"Well, you are immortal, so I took that into account." Octavian shrugged.

"And what if I get captured instead?" Sasha retorted.

"Considering how you not only lit a giant ghoul on fire but also cleaved it in half, I'm sure you can manage if it comes to the extreme. Just try not to blow up the town."

"Huh," Sasha mouthed aloud, cocking her head and raising her eyebrow. "Who the hell fed you that fantasy? You and Marco still trading bedtime stories?" Octavian was floored.

"Wait, are you playing me right now?" He frowned, confused himself.

"I should ask you the same." Sasha frowned back.

"Wait, wait, okay so do you even remember going with Marco to spy on a castle party disguised as guards?"

"Um, duh," Sasha tossed her hands. "How could I forget spending time with my little Marcy?" Octavian forced himself to ignore the "my little Marcy" comment.

"Then… do you remember how that mission ended?" Octavian glanced hard.

"Again, duh," Sasha said, but then retracted. Her voice quivered for a bit as she tried her best to remember. "Well… it- I-… um… Shit I-… Oh! Yeah! I remember! A guest got rowdy. Then a fight broke out and the place caught on fire. Think some idiot drakon mouthed off to a ghoul and the two got into it and tore the place apart."

Octavian was again floored as questions exploded in his mind. Why did she pause to remember what happened just a few days ago? Why is her story so wildly different from Marco's? Is she lying? Why would she if she was? What is she hiding? What is Sir Galath hiding? Over and over again these questions collided and crashed until Octavian dismissed them all together. He surmised that this conversation would have to wait for now as they had already wasted enough time.

"Alright," He sighed simply. "If that's that then just whistle if you feel overwhelmed and I'll perform a siren roar. Would rather not go that far, but if you need it, I'll do it. Deal?"

"Oooo haven't heard one of those in forever," Sasha exclaimed excitedly. "Deal!"

Octavian was not sure if she was just insane, a master manipulator, or both. Either way, he was stuck with her. The least he could do was make sure she would not pose a danger to anyone. Then, once this mission is over, Octavian will demand answers out of Sir Galath as soon as he returned to the encampment.