Tales From Ferroveil - Arguz Aijk: Private Eye IC

[Starsign]

Just like that, it was all done.

Arguz lowered his arm as he saw the display of blood and ash fly across the room and splatter among the remaining flames. The empty casino made for a decent resting place for the dead geomancer; a place which has been abandoned, grand yet miserable. The battle here merely shredded whatever remains of beauty this place held. The trickling of flames remaining won't do anything more than char the sturdy wooden ground underneath Arguz's sandals as the stench of blood and death began to stink up the remaining smoke in the air.

The ratty gunslinger put his revolver back in its holster as he, hunched a little over like any ratfolk, took one long, last look at Kazdall. A part of Arguz wanted to drop his small smile and sneer at the corpse. Kazdall wasn't wrong when he said that Arguz was good at his job; most people in Ferroveil don't solve a dilemma like this on their own, much less with the enjoyment Arguz had. Make no mistake, Arguz did enjoy killing Kazdall like how he did fighting Cha'Zhirkan. It wasn't a murder made for the fun of it, even when Arguz does, perhaps, enjoy the fight. Kazdall died because he messed with Arguz and his mom, and the geomancer died because he threatened the city without a reason, much less a will, to live afterward. There was a restraint, as far as Arguz saw, to limit his own personal killings tonight to Kazdall, several of his unfortunate cultists, and indirectly Cha'Zhirkan. Arguz could have made it a lot bloodier if he wanted; but he got his fun, his family safe, and his job done. He doesn't need anything more than that.

Besides, Arguz likes to live as long as a ratfolk can. Increasing his kill count sure won't extend his life.

As his mom approached, something in Arguz left him. The sneer he saved for Kazdall and the resent built up to the dead geomancer whisks away invisibly into the smoke-covered rooms as Arguz sees Uijl's weary, strong and tear-filled eyes. Uijl's eyes reflected the two things Arguz knows, and loves, about her: her life with him as his mother and her accomplished, awesome-sounding life as a bounty hunter. Even if she is too old, too far gone to live again the days of combat, Arguz can see a part of that life close to her mind. The older black-furred ratfolk still has the experience and memory of being a bounty hunter even when it had haunted her longer than her son imagined. However, even beyond that, Arguz saw the most important thing within her eyes: life.

The life in his mother is all Arguz needs as he is swept up in emotion. His ash and blood-covered face lets out an uneasy and relieved smile through his many small teeth as he feels her warm touch from her bone-thin hand. His aching, ratty tail eases as the gunslinger finds his confident, often-intimidating persona cools and breaks off. He lets Uijl hold his hand for a few moments before the son wraps his mother in a gentle hug. His breath, overcome by a relief of emotion and a withering of adrenaline, shakes as he embraces his mother. "Aye Ma," he says to her softly, speaking like a son rather than a detective. Soft tears well in his own, younger, dark blue eyes as he thanks Tullis for Uijl's survival. "Aye... All done 'ere. nothin' left o' tonight's mess." He reiterated the words in his own mind: it's all over. For tonight, there's no more ninjas, no more vampires, no more cultists, and certainly no more murders. Just for tonight, Arguz and his mom can rest easy.

He hugs his mom for a brief time before letting go, trying to let his body relax as pain returns to his body amidst the absence of adrenaline. "I'll jus' get my hook," he tells her as he walks over to the dead and hanging ratfolk. Arguz stamps his wooden sandals on the ground as he loosens off the rope and retracts it back into his armguard buckler while Kazdall hits his bloodied and cold corpse on the floor. True to Arguz's plan, the ratfolk puts the barrel of his gun on Kazdall's ruined clothing and fires; the muffled gunshot echoes with burning embers as the barrel lights up the clothes and eventually will, hopefully, burn the body until it can no longer be unrecognized. No sense letting a warren folk hero be disgraced when he's supposed to be dead.

As Arguz begins to finally leave, his sandals kick a gruesome object: Cha'Zhirkan's head. The hunching ratfolk gives a grisly look at it before picking it up by the ear. "Guess I'll be needing this to show case's closed," he mutters before wrapping it in a sheet of cloth that he can carry without attracting attention. Samantha's not going to like the look of it but at least she can live knowing her husband's death has been avenged.

[Capt. Infinity]

The rest of the case was resolved with little incident. At least, in a physical sense.

Samantha spent a good while unable to fully articulate her feelings in the wake of Arguz's explanation. The extraplanar nature of it all seeming to go somewhat over her head. In the end, she simply cries. Cries tears both in happiness at her husband's avenging, and in sorrow as the closure of the case meant his presence would finally wane from this world thereafter. His story told, his curtain called shut.

Samantha, though by far the most emotional, was not the only one happy to hear that the job had been done. The evening, Valeria Valholm would spare herself a chuckle of relief all her own upon entering her dining table. The severed head of Cha'Zhirkan, placed neatly on a silver platter, acting as all the confirmation she needed to know that Arguz had held his end of the bargain. As well as enough for her to take a mental note of the Ratfolk Gunslinger thereafter. As, evidently, Adraena had done more than spew hot air when she told tale of the astonishing feats of action of which this simple-seeming Warren-dweller was capable.

In the end, however, such reactions were none too important in the grand scheme of things. Theirs was not the opinions that truly mattered. No, the voices and statements that meant much to Arguz, both now, and forever hereafter, were the amazed intonations of his loving, tight-knit family as they sat around the table the following morning, enraptured by the tale of the duo's daring do.

"That... That's so COOL!" Caci states as a fact from her seat on the floor, her eyes having sparkled the whole way through the telling, and showing no signs of losing enthusiasm as she speaks high praise thereafter. "You fought a fiend! An actual, real-life monster from out of space! And mom helped you do it! My family rocks!" The girl elates, seemingly mumbling a jumbled slurry of praises to herself, seemingly unable both to hold in her praise, nor fully articulate it.

Doden speaks next, his voice notably more mellow, more in quiet awe. "Arguz... Mom... That's incredible. Were you scared? Are ya happy now that it's done? I can't... It just seems so crazy." He states, unable to truly say more, the small music box he'd been toying with laying untouched in the divot of his lap as he sits cross-legged on the stamped ground of the Aijk household, trying to fully process the story as a whole.

"Doden's got a point there, Arguz." Jia chuckles, addressing her brother, but also looking at her mother with new, freshly-refocused eyes. Following her every motion as she slowly and methodically repaired both her work clothes and Arguz's. The older Ratfolk having taken the day off on account of her assault the night previous (a statement which was fully true, and enough to qualify, sans further explanation). The mystic courier continues. "The both of you did something beyond last night. You didn't just fight some magical whatzit or noble whatever. You slayed a Div. I ain't exactly the best listener when it comes t' Mirrud reciting his lore. But from what I can remember him mumbling late at night while I'm tryin' to get forty winks, those things are death personified. Killin' them, especially at the order ah some crazy mafia vampire queen, isn't somethin' that just gets ya noticed. That's the stuff that puts you on walls and lists. The kinda thing that makes a ya friends in high places, and enemies just as so." Her expression purses, her snout wiggling in worry. "Do ya think yer ready to get that much more famous?" She asks, unsure herself in what all of this means, but simply fearing the worst despite herself. Her instincts kicking in, and eliciting a sense of doubt for the future of her intrepid, adventure-hungry brother.

[Starsign]

Arguz didn't sleep well that night.

He was already feeling some of the effects after battle. Once he and Uijl exited the casino, a feeling of exhaustion bore over him. He hadn't felt like collapsing but the lack of adrenaline gave him a long trudge just to tie up the loose ends. He did feel a tinge of energy when he visited Samantha, reiterating his somewhat-crazy tale with the head of Cha'Zhirkan as proof, and another small burst when he dressed the head on Valholm's dining room table; he did like that little, morbid touch which an undead aristocrat should no doubt appreciate; the warren-folk do know a thing or two about humor down in the gallows when you live among the lowest of the low.

Any remaining energy he had, however, was gone when he went to his hard wooden bed. The relief of resting came only briefly before a light, searing pain coursed through his brown-furred body. The wounds he took over the night still hurt as he tries to rest and even the scars of old wear down his ability to just relax. His tail flinched from time-to-time and he covered the slash wound on his head with his bone-thin hand. No matter how the interpreted ratfolk tried, he wasn't sleeping easy.

The aching, however, ceased upon when he finally awoke early in the morning. The gunslinger couldn't remember exactly when he drifted to unconsciousness and finally got the rest he needed. A small dim light shone through the rough-and-scraping ceiling as his ratty eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. The warrens got very little sunlight on a whole; most of the light in the small house came from the little crank-like bulb contraption Doden and Caci devised. The older brother appreciates it; he cannot wait until they can live in the new home.

Once he finally got to the table, however, Arguz perked right up. He loved meeting with his family even if it meant having another argument with Fahir. The oldest sibling walked in with his robes, seeing that his leaf-encrusted jacket was still in need of repairs. Arguz got to ignore the lingering pains of his body as well as he told what happened to him and Uijl last night. Their adventure and battles are evident from the bandages which covered the wounds on Arguz's nose and the rest of his body. The wounds and scars happened to be both a sign of his accomplishments and a lingering pain that reminded him of what he'd been through.

Though let that be no misinterpretation; he has no regrets so far with being a detective.

"Haha... ha, Mirrud still knowing a lot, ain't he?" The cheerful older brother says with a smile as he leans forward on the table; his two furry arms resting on the thick wood. "Don't know where Fahir an' 'im learn all 'bout these ol' creatures. Guess I oughta listen to 'em more often." He looks over at his younger brother Mirrud and gives a slightly embarrassed smile with his many small teeth. There is something to say about how Arguz is not particularly smart about hitting the books, though most of the Aijks are busy enough that they don't often have a lot of time to research. He leans over his chair to see Fahir past the door, lying on his bed. The poor younger brother works his rat's ass off each day; at least he's getting more rest than Arguz is.

Arguz, however, is in fact avoiding Jia's question though only for a brief time. Fame, as Arguz has been learning, is a double-edged sword and he's been getting a number of contacts which he may or may not like, especially if one asks him of a job that will put him at odds with another. With how Jia gets around, she probably knows this better than her older brother.
"But I hear you Sis. Trust me, me an' Ma ain't going 'round, shouting 'bout what we did all night. An' we covered what we could. 'Sides, not like the planned rampage of a Div's gotta be on the front papers." Arguz speaks slightly hastily, though with the joy he usually has when spending time with family. Arguz could not have foreseen that his case tonight would have had him fighting a Div.

Though while Jia's question is important for Arguz, Doden's is of a more personal matter, and one which makes Arguz realize that he should start being like a mentor to his siblings. After all, they don't know what it's like to really be out on a death-defying adventure. He really should give them a humble moment amidst the battles he goes through.

"An' Doden? ...I guess you could say yer right." Arguz speaks a little more softly with his deep-ish and dusty tone. He gets an arm off the table and gently pats Doden, sitting next to him, on the shoulder. "No one's going in a fight all fearless. Been a hell'ova lotta moments where I sure worry 'bout dying. Not that I'm ever gonna show ya." The older brother gives off a soft wink. "But even if I was scared, I didn't hesitate fer a moment, an' not jus' cause I like to fight," though Arguz absolutely enjoyed the thrill of the hunt and thrill of the kill. "There was something personal fer me to fight fer. An' there would'a been a hell'ova lotta regrets if I turned tail an' run." He looks over at his mom next to him; Uijl's really the only one who went through more that night than Arguz did. "Sometimes my job gives me a lil' something more than jus' solving crimes an' cases for money." There's a few things Arguz isn't saying, among those being that Arguz is actually quite prideful with his work, even as it takes him to fight things from dragons to Divs; and he's well aware that he can end up a carcass thrown down into the sewers of Ferroveil. The most important thing, however, is to explain why he stood his ground and fought Cha'Zhirkan in the first place. Div, or no Div, Arguz had a job and a mother to protect; the fear of death incarnate won't stop him.

[Capt. Infinity]

"The Hells are real, and the living have seen them." Mirrud mumbles from his position near the door. A book between his legs as he rests on an old stool, the back long ago rotted and removed in favour of simply propping it up against the wall. "I like to think it's fairly important that those who can read up on what their predecessors have seen." He explains, sighing in what might have been a low chuckle, were it not for his eminent worry in the wake of all that he'd heard about his brother and mother's fantastical escapade the night before. "If I had to guess, it's some kind of cruel joke by the Gods that I was born the studious one, and you were instead born with, apparently, a wanderlust inherited by blood."

"If I had to guess-" The low rumbling of Fahir's voice suddenly pierces the room, the man not even opening his eyes as he comments on the proceedings within the main eating room. "I'd say you bein' book smart an' him bein' foolheardy 're two sides a the same coin; can't have a hero who knows what he's gettin' into each day. Ye'd probably never see 'em get outta bed." The larger Ratfolk muses, eliciting a similar almost-laugh to that of his twin, stifled in his case by a deep air of disapproval.

"Oh yeah? Then what's yer excuse, Fahir? Ye'r livin' the quiet life all the same. An' unless you got some medical texts hidden under that bed a yours, I ain't seein' much book learnin' on your side a things, either." Jia admonishes of her younger, but more settled brother, chuckling to herself from her seat at the squarish table, before yelping out in surprise at the sticking of a needle in her arm, a disapproving look from its causer Uijl following along directly beside it.

The matronly Ratfolk huffs. "You hush up, Jia. Yer brother has a good head on his shoulders to stay outta this line o' work. Especially with his condition." The mother of six affirms, looking sympathetically across the room at her factory worker son as Fahir scoffs morosely from his bed, rolling over to one side at the mention of his debilitating illness, the clear weight of sadness shrinking his form at its mention.

Jia rubbed her pinpricked arm, looking genuinely regretful at her earlier, crassly-put statement. "Ah... Sorry ma. Sorry Fahir." She mumbles, getting little more than a hand wave from the resting Ratfolk, a look of disconcertion crossing her face. A look which only grew in restrained intensity at the mental hand waving of Arguz's further statement. Though she kept her further worry to herself, realizing that Arguz was, in many ways, putting off the worry for their sake, and that we would fight the demons of his choices without any need for intervention on her side of the issue.

Her expression does soften though, as do Uijl and Mirrud's, as the trio of older Ratfolk witness the genuine moment of bonding between Arguz and his youngest brother. Doden looks up at his brother with sparkling, deeply respectful eyes. A look of sudden clarity crossing him as he processes the information fed to him, perhaps a fair bit better than his more gung-ho sister Caci could at this point in time. "I... I think I get it now. Yer not fearless, bro. Nobody smart ever is. ...Yer brave. Ya stand firm against the bad folks in the world, fightin' for what ya care about, not what they ask ya ta do." He nods to himself, apprehension slowly dawning on him, admiration flushing across his face as he grips the music box in his hands, looking down at it, at what it represents for his hopeful, possible future. I... I wanna be like that when I grow up. Maybe not fightin' monsters in burnin' casinos." He chuckles to himself, still amazed at the story, before looking back up at his brother, eyes sparkling with determination. "But I wanna be brave. Brave, strong, and willin' to do whatever it takes to make sure the people I care about are happy."

"Yeah!" Caci pipes up, smacking the table with her fist for good measure. "I wanna be a cool hero too! It runs in the blood, after all. Right ma?" She asks, turning to her mother, who had begun shaking her head in bemusement, an even mix of pride and sorrow clear on her face.

"Gods above. Not a single tale of derring-do between the lot a you, and I end up raising four kids who can't bear but reach for stars." The woman takes her free, non-sewing hand and rubs her temples, chuckling tiredly all the while. "I guess it does run in the blood after all."

"Oh, don't go lookin' so knotted up about it." Darug muses happily. Wandering over from his spot by the makeshift stovetop on the furnace to bring a massive plate of fresh scrambled eggs to the table between them. It was a rare day indeed that the Aijk's patriarch took a day off from peddling his wares, and he always took the opportunity to cook the household a warm, wholesome meal. A reminder that he was not completely unable to run a house in aid to his treasured wife and partner. He kisses Uijl on the cheek, the older Ratfolk jumping slightly at the sudden display of affection. "After all, if we're bein' completely honest, 'sprobably why I fell fer you. Though, ah can't say ya didn't leave an tangible impression on me, regardless." The older Rat man muses, smiling cheekily at the look of embarrassed thanks that crossed his spouses face as she looked away. Unable to look him fully in the eye as he drags a stool over to sit amongst his kids, his seat placed firmly between his eldest son Arguz and the wall the table pressed itself up against.

[Starsign]

After everything last night, Arguz wouldn't try and add in on Jia's little bickering with Fahir. Not that Arguz couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sickly brother's comment; Fahir never approved of Arguz's gunslinging adventures and he absolutely didn't approve that Uijl got wrapped up in it too. If not for their mother's presence, Arguz would've let out a loud huff. He lacked the same patience and forgiveness Uijl had to the sick ratfolk. However, Arguz knew better than to spike an argument his mom wanted to quell. He knew better than to disrespect his elders by going against their wishes.

Especially when one of their elders happens to be a former bounty hunter and carries around a ludicrously sharp blade.

Beneath his light, cloth sleeping robes, Arguz crossed his legs between each other, leaning forward as Doden spoke to him. A gentle, encouraging feeling came through the gunslinger's heart. The little brother's face represents a lot of what Arguz once was: youthful, promising and believed in the endless possibilities. Arguz had been in this job long enough, on so many dangerous, entertaining adventures, that his body's already weathered by his job; and he's become enough of a realist to realize that he hd to respect those with more power throughout Ferroveil. To see, though, that the young, small, dare-say brilliant ratfolk wanting to be brave and to stand up for those he cares about? It's wonderful, endearing even, to Arguz's ratty ears.

The gunslinging ratfolk, with his bronze chain belt and revolver tucked tightly inside his robes, smiles proudly at the young, little sibling. "That's my bro," Arguz chuckles proudly to Doden. The detective's weary eyes, though still full of life, sees so much potential within the little engineer. He and Caci have so much to live for that it's insulting for ratfolk to have short lives. "Can't go guaranteeing that yer gonna face things from dragons to assassins to some ol' crazy thing from Abaddon," he playfully warns the young Doden. The kind of monsters Arguz encountered before really put Josiah's words to context: there's no way Arguz would have handled that if he were any "normal" ratfolk. He can't say, however, that the rest of his family isn't without talent either. "But there's something to respect 'bout being brave. An' I think we all got a bit of that." He looks around the small room in their small house, looking at each member of his family. "I mean jus' being brave 'nough to deal with what life throw's at us each day, brave 'nough to realize we all got something to fight fer. Even brave 'nough..."

Among Arguz's mentor-like speech to Doden, Darug's plate of scrambled eggs suddenly felt a little lighter. A bone-thin hand holding a wooden spoon reached out the moment that breakfast was set down on the wooden, somewhat-rickety table. And with hands as quick as his a gunslinger's trigger-finger, a thick spoon of scrambled eggs is taken from the table and dropped in the wide-open, cone-shaped mouth of Arguz Aijk.

"...to call dibs on eggs!" he mutters happily between his munching. It's been forever since Darug has made scrambled eggs. Usually it's easy to get eggs at the market in Lowtown. Making them scrambled is easier; even Arguz can do it. It's rare, however, for Darug to actually have the time to make it. Usually it's Uijl or Doden and Caci who are up early enough to cook before everyone's out to work; and there's something about Darug's method that makes them... tastier than his mom's. If Arguz had to guess, it's some special spice his dad uses. His eggs sure are spicier as the bits of eggs are like a burning party in his mouth; and it's better than any scrambled eggs Arguz has had elsewhere.

"Mmmm, delicious Pa!" Arguz looks up and smiles at his dad as he sits down. The detective looks over his parent's shoulder to see his mom's very, very brief embarrassed face. With his own smile, Arguz teases his two parents. "You learned a lotta things from Ma, aye?"

Jesting at the breakfast table is far cry from ignorantly guessing a creature's place of origin in a battle of life-or-death. The whiplash would be startling if, just for now, it wasn't so welcoming to the gunslinger.

[Capt. Infinity]

Uijl chuckles at Arguz's self-derailment, but nonetheless admires the message he had been shooting for. It was true, in a way, that the Aijk's survived on bravery. As every individual here, save the children, had faced some manner of wall, and pushed past it. Darug and Uijl knew bravery well. Though Uijl had faced one, grand adversity in her old life's abandonment, whilst Darug was a bearer of a softer fear. That of an inability to care for his house and home.

Arguz's siblings too, had known bravery in turn. Jia with her mastery of a once scary and vexing power, Mirrud with his want to learn despite his station, and even Fahir, timid as he was, with his constant need to provide, despite his newfound weakness.

Arguz may have faced horrors beyond worlds, but he had a shot on the bullseye when he saw courage all around him. Through determination and grit did the Aijk line endure. And through determination, grit, and togetherness would the Aijk line come to prosper.

But it seems Arguz would be continually surprised at the non-humble nature of his family's beginnings.

Darug chuckled at Arguz's joking half-question, spooning out eggs for the lot of his family. He set an extra plate in his hands, placing eggs and cutlery on it for what must be the meal for Mirrud. "Y'could say that, yeah." He grinned, eyeing his wife with a sudden, pressing question. "D'ya think I should tell 'em? 'Snot like we ain't torn a hole 'n the bag already." He inclines, clearly unwilling to move further without his spouse's permission.

Uijl sighed, then nodded to her husband. "Go ahead, Darug. No sense in holding our tongues now." Agrees, before cutting into her eggs and eating them. The precision with which she slices her food never registering in Arguz's mind before last night's revelations.

Darug chuckled, then began his short speech. "Y'see, back when I was a youngling like th' lotta you, I had ideas to become somethin' of a warrior. Nothin' fancy, no. I couldn't afford a sword 'r armour. But what I could use-" He suddenly whips the plate behind him, sending it spin straight across the room, and landing Mirrud's book's cover, much to the amazement of the old rat's pious young son. "Was mah hands. He smiled, enjoying himself as he continued. "An' so, I found m'self a tutor. An ol' brown-furred Ratfolk called Tzink. I think I mentioned 'im once or twice. 'uncle Tzink' the ol' antiques store owner?" He asks, before shrugging. "Ah, in any case. Ol' Tzink was a Monk. Self-taught through ol' scrolls. Had made a life o' adventurin', till he settled here in Ferroveil. Ol' man promised to teach me, if'n I helped 'round his store. So I did it. Worked with him for three long years, never realizin' that mild mannered ol' Tzink had been wanderin' around, punchin' ne'er-do-wells and crime kings in the face when he weren't workin'." The old rat shook his head, chuckling mirthfully at the memory. "T' cut a long, rather silly story short, some big boss o' Lowtown gather'd up enough coin to call in a favour from ol' Valeria Valholm, who in turn got a favour from a little Ratfolk bounty hunter." He bore a side glance at Uijl, who idly turned to look away, troubling herself with the spots on the window. "Now, Tzink was an ol' 'Folk, but he wouldn't show it fer nothin'. He looked like my older brother at times. And, as it would happen, in the dark he kinda look'd like ME." He chuckled idly. "Yer mother broke in, tried t' catch me by surprise, thinkin' I was her mark. All she did was catch the reflection an' glare in a bowl I w's cleanin', an' ended up blindin' herself as I caught sight o' her. What followed shortly after earned us both a mess o' scars, an' cost me about a month's worth o' labour pay from the damage I did to Tzink's property. But, in the end, I'd found myself a new acquaintance, who I helped track down and outs the man who set the hit in some other, more important slight against him, In time, I made her a friend. An' helped her find solace in her life, an' helped her escape to a life better worth livin'." His eyes grow soft as he looks back at Uijl, who finally shares a glance back, her eyes equally loving. "An' then, in due time, an' only after proper procedure... I made her a partner fer life."

The old man slowly turned to his eldest, grinning from ear to ear. "It's nothin' fer the history books. But it's mah story, an' it's one I'm proud t' say I lived." Darug affirms, clearly sure of himself, and proud of his life given hindsight.

[Starsign]

There are two words that describes Arguz's expression: shock and awe.

Darug's story may not be one for the ages, as he himself has already said. However, Arguz always wondered what his father was now that Uijl's past life came to light. It wasn't logical that the doting father would be unaware of his wife's exciting past as a bounty hunter. The fact that he knew about Jia's powers should have been a giveaway about how much he really knew.

The story, however, about how Darug and Uijl met is nothing short of a wondrous scene to visually imagine. It certainly didn't involve the high-flying adventures which the gunslinger, or even Uijl, had been on. Yet their first meeting was an exciting duel and a team-up afterward. It's just like one of those adventure stories Arguz had heard of back when he was younger; stories like those had heroes and characters who inspired him back before he found his calling as a detective with a homemade pepperbox. He always had respect for his parents as well, though he had thought of himself as a bit of a rebel compared to his not-so-humble parents. Now, he can think of his parents as former adventurers from the stories of old... It's almost like Kazdall, as Arguz heard of him as a folk hero before finding how old and resented the ratfolk thief actually was.

Arguz's wide-open smile, gums and small teeth slopped in chomped, scrambled eggs, gives away his wondrous enthusiasm. "Wow! Trained by a monk, Pa?" Arguz has heard about how monks control ki within their movements to fight and defend themselves; he's seen both Rantar and Jia manipulate it. He can take it from them that ki is a hell of a skill. "Can't believe it. Didn't think ol' 'uncle Tzink was a self-taught monk. An' never knew he could dish out a solid beating from more than the crazed folks that stride in on occasion." The ratfolk son chuckles gently as his bone-thin tail swings around behind him in glee. He didn't think about having more scrambled eggs, as nice and spicy as his dad makes them; his stomach's now filled with stories and images joyfully flooding his mind.

"Bet he taught you all sorta things 'bout ki, aye? Guess we know where Jia got her stuff from." He looks over to his sister and gives a wide, toothy smile. Jia has always been closer to Darug than Arguz has. Last night, he theorized Jia's crazy ki-style speed and skill was something she got from her mom. Instead it seems like it was Arguz who takes more after his mom when he's always been closer to her; they didn't need ki powers as they had all the natural skill and speed one can find from a ratfolk. "Now I wish I ought'a asked more 'bout learning how to fight with my fists. Not that yer a bad trainer, Sis." He winks, playful in his own words. "Heck of a family we make, ain't we?"

He takes a moment to poke his ratty snout out the crude, makeshift window in the house; the burn marks on his black fur gives a dead-looking sheen amidst the small morning rays of sunlight. The revelations about his family puts their home in perspective. The warrens have always been a bit of a sore sight for Arguz and its smelly, humid atmosphere does nothing for his nose. It's an all-too-familiar place and one he's always lived in even as he dreams of a new house for his family. They're former adventurers and they should be deserving of a new home; a pity Ferroveil's society, while apparently an amazing advancement beyond the medieval days of yore, does not merit its adventures like they do its industries. They're a group of brave ratfolk, including a former bounty hunter, a monk, and a detective whose reputation grows with every big case. He'd love nothing more than to move into that house being built in Midtown; and he'd love to live there with his family even if just a bit. If his job kills him then at least he'll have done all he can for those he loves.

Invigorated by the morning and ready for a new day, Arguz looks back and waves over to his ill younger brother; and with a happy, lively look amidst all his burns and scars, the older brother calls out, "'ey Fahir! Gonna have yer eggs? Big guy's gotta eat after all!"

[Capt. Infinity]

Darug chuckled at his son's rampant enthusiasm, the doting father remembering back to the young Ratfolk's childhood, to the young pup who had such eyes for heroism, and who's love of adventure and daring do had brought the family to never before seen heights of glory. "It'sa lesson that you prolly don't need teachin' at this point, son, but a good rule o' thumb in this city is t' trust NOTHIN' by its appearance. 'Cause it sure as hell ain't just mimics which stand t' surprise ya with what they can really do." He smiles, nodding as the Gunslinger made his astute observation. "Yeah, Jia's my daughter, through an' through. Tzink tol' me it might happen with ma kids. 'Pparently ki trainin''s been known to follow through a generation, but I still gotta admit I was surprised when Jia went and hopscotched through space whe'ever she had her nightmares when sleepin'." He shrugs, glancing proudly at his eldest daughter, who was bashfully looking off to one side, trying to look inconspicuous.

"Paa..." Jia grumbles, never really a fan of overt amounts of attention, at least in regards to her parents. She does manage a smirk over at Arguz, however. The girl seeming eminently amused by his comments on her training techniques. "Eh. Yer hands are built fer shootin' not punchin'. Much as we all got our roots, you an' me, Argy? We're our own breed. An' there ain't no sense in wastin' our talent tryin' to follow our parents when we got a whole Steam Surge'd world to call our own." She grins, enjoying the prospect. Her own humble beginnings seemingly enough for her at the moment, but even Jia had to admit that the breadth of the world around her had its way of calling out to her too, alongside her brother.

The sight of the rising sun over Lowtown catches Arguz's eye this day in particular. A low haze from the ocean, not a rare sight on its own, catching the sun at just the right angle, and exploding the dawn light outwards into a massive fan of rainbows. The city, for all its ill repute and dark, malefic corners, was a beautiful one at its core. At its baseline yes, it was a place of ancient standards. Of rules and order deeply entrenched since ages long ago. But that was an aura that, in the light of dawn was slowly fading. An ideal which gave way to a light of new hope and change, just as Automata Tower broke free from the skyline of nobility. Ferroveil, in this new dawn, was a city that gave one chances. Chances to grow, to change, and to make a world all their own. The chances were rare, and were demanding as they were fleeting. But with the will, determination, and the blood of intrepidness flowing through him, perhaps, just perhaps, Arguz had enough to seize that dawn, and be a part of Ferroveil's brand new day.

In the face of this, of the unflinching optimism and stories of grandeur, even Fahir had to allow himself a moment of hope, rising from his bed to stretch, before wandering over to pick up his own plate of eggs.

"Alright, fine, ya got me. Ye're cool." The man admits, grabbing his eggs, and chancing a grin at his family.

"And yeah, Arg. If bein' the sort t' want t'stand out makes ya crazy... Then the whole family, even maself, are at least a little bit nuts." He chuckles, the rest of the Aijk's joining in, appreciating the moment of calm. Of this instant of solidarity and kindness amidst a harsh, but hopeful world. The lot of them, from youngest child, to eldest brother, ready, willing, and able to face anything the new day might bring.

[Capt. Infinity]

---

The recovery from the killings of Cha’Zhirkan came slowly, laboriously, and in uneven bursts. But still, in the end, it came.
Many people were given nowhere close to a clear picture of events. An obvious side effect of nearly all parties involved being either out of the limelight or dead. However, in due time, mostly from the harried recollections of Kazdall’s former flock, and with the aid of a subtle information campaign by Valholm and her subordinates, most everyone knew what was important in the wake of the Div’s sporting slaughter. The culprit was extraplanar, they had been the result of a cult’s actions, and by some dint of miracle, a duo of adventurers had helped kill the monster dead.

This was the message that rang out across the city, cascading out from the Warrens and Entertainment District like a slow, calming wave. It was a message meant to soothe, to assuage the hearts of those touched and left raw by both this and the Heartstabber menace. It was an attempt at a soft, caring reprieve to the souls of all those left stressing, in the hopes that finally. Finally. The denizens of Ferroveil would be allowed a moment’s rest from the tragic and horrific exploits of foes and fiends aplenty.
And given that, it was perhaps almost comically unpleasant that such a calming rest was ended not a moment past two weeks thereafter.

It had started out innocuous enough. A couple of factory workers, having just got off work, and headed to a tavern in lower Lowtown, were accosted on the streets by an unknown assailant, and killed. Evidence at the time had pegged the deaths as the result of a robbery gone awry, as the victims’ coin purses had been missing from the scene.

This assumption was quickly called into question, however, when the exact same MO, a simple dagger to the vitals, was found to be the cause of death for another factory worker just a single day later. And then again, and then again, and then again. All killed by stabbing, missing coin purses, with factory worker victims frequenting the lower end of Lowtown. Six deaths in five days, with absolutely no signs of a break in the pattern. Truly, an unsettling occurrence, and one which perhaps struck a bit too close to home in the wake of all the tragedy in the past handful of months.

However, even in light of all that’s happened, not even this eerie sequence of deaths was really all THAT much to talk about, in the grand scheme of affairs. Paranoid as the people of Ferroveil likely were at this point in time, the majority consensus was, in the end, rather banal: They were muggings gone wrong. Maybe it was the same killer or killers, sure. But this wasn’t exactly something to write home about. In truth, only one man truly saw this as anything sinister. Anything more than a simple unfortunate confluence of events. A man of conviction and staunch paranoia. A man who’d called at least half the victims friends, or at least close acquaintances. A man who, much to Arguz’s amazement, was standing as tall as he could directly in front of the gnarled wooden desk of his office.

Fahir Aijk. Arguz’s younger brother, fellow breadwinner and, as of precisely ten heartbeats ago, his newest active client.
The sick-weakened Ratfolk raises an annoyed eyebrow, clearly displeased with the turn of events. “Well?” He asks, angry that he had to seek out his brother for the very thing he didn’t like him doing. “What do you think? Does it sound like something you could look into?” He asks, having given his brother a rundown of events, and hoping with a conflicted heart that his elder kin knew what to do for this sort of situation.

[Starsign]

While time is merciless in its endless march, Arguz appreciates being able to rest up after that crazy night.

Besides taking time to get his overcoat fixed, the small detective had a rough past few days to relax. Between the scars he received from Cha’Zhirkan and the danger Uijl was in, Arguz can’t have his life being an endless series of big cases that always seem to spiral out of control. They’ve sure been a blast; there really is nothing like gunning down a dragon or some interplanetary monster when you’re a four-foot, two-inch ratfolk. However, even an adrenaline junkie like himself needs some time away from it. He’s a detective and a gunslinger, not a miracle worker, even when his job tailors itself to causing a miracle amidst racking up a small body count.

Though the break has, perhaps, dimmed the black ratfolk’s perception when the murders happened. Muggings weren’t uncommon in Ferroveil; it doesn’t take much more than a drunk fool or a desperate worker to try and snitch money out of Lowtown’s citizens. Even if conditions aren’t literally the pits, Lowtown’s a stone-cracked hive of seedy factories, fog, and poorly-kept roads. It’s not a wonder that the wealthy of Ferroveil look down on the usually-neglected Lowtown so much.

So while Arguz kept an eye on the murders, he didn’t realize the severity of it until Fahir, of ALL people, came to his desk.

Arguz, naturally hunched over as a ratfolk, looks down at his desk where several pictures Fahir took lie to see; who knew Doden’s newest gizmo can take pictures! While they are small and black-and-white, the detective’s keen eyes notice the blood on these victims; one had their stab wound shown clearly while another had several silver coins scattered around their corpse. Their work clothing, jagged pants, thick and loose shirts, all had the signs of being factory workers coming out of a long shift.

The slightly-rotted wooden desk creaks as Arguz leans his bone-thin hands on it. The scar on his cheek is barely visible with the sun from the twice-repaired window, the only source of light in the room, shining down on the back of his black-furred head. His patience with Fahir, a brother who really doesn’t like Arguz’s dangerous work, is already short as the younger-but-bigger brother annoyingly asks him for help. “Yeah yeah,” Arguz responds; his coarse ratfolk voice sounding deeper than most; the sound is comparable to that of an adult orc whose throat is covered in dust. “Y’know I’d do anything fer my family. An’ y’ don’t gotta get so worked up over it.” Arguz tries flashing a smirk to his brother, as little as it might help.

[Capt. Infinity]

There was a visible look of displeasure on Fahir's face from the moment he'd entered the room, a look which only soured further as Arguz acted exceedingly nonchalant about the whole affair. It had been clear from the start to the astute young Ratfolk detective that his younger brother held little more than resigned acceptance of his elder's profession on the best of days, and it was clear from the moment the young factory labourer entered the room that today was far from Fahir's best.

As such, it likely came as little surprise to Arguz that, in response to the detective's derisive snideness, the sickly Ratfolk saw fit to retaliate. "Really, Arguz? Y' bust yer ass shootin' yer way through Hell on the Prime fer a handful a' gold an the thrill, y' nearly DIE fightin' a literal fiend outa spite, and you decide to help out a local crime problem that's affectin' yer family as a favour?" Fahir all but heaves in response, the anger, though muted, clearly causing him a moderate level of exhaustion.

He takes haggard breaths as he continues. "Arguz, summa these men were my friends. Good men with innocent hearts who went'n got themselves killed fer the price a' walkin' down the wrong street. Yer tellin' me nonna that strikes a chord in that adrenaline-drunk heart'a yours?" The Ratfolk asks with audible disdain, scoffing as he crosses his arms. "Guess Lowtown really is too good fer the likes'a you."

[Starsign]

One would think that Fahir would have a bit of patience over Arguz's attitude. The gunslinger had, like his brother said, been reckless, shoot-happy and thrill-seeking throughout his cases; there isn't actually doubting about that. Arguz, however, had always been reliable to his family. He knew it, Fahir knew it, and no one would doubt it. So Arguz thought that, even with Fahir's short temper, the younger brother could stand what Arguz thought was lighthearted snark.

Evidently, this isn't the case; and it quickly drives what's left of Arguz's patience to go straight to Hell.

The older brother sighs loudly. "Goddamnit Fahir," he coarsely curses. "I know that y' wouldnt've come 'ere unless it worried y' that much. I know y' hate this damn ol' job of mine an' coming 'ere for y' would'a been like making a deal with the Archfiend." The scar across Arguz's black-furred cheek almost seems to blend in with his head away from the shining light of his window, giving the detective an ominously dark appearance. "So when I say I'd do anything fer y', I mean it. Even if this is jus' part of my job, yer not my client 'ere; yer my bro. I ain't asking fer money or help or a damn 'sorry' fer all this. If yer worried 'bout yer friends being killed, then I'll look into it an' I'll try to put a stop to it. All I'm asking for is a lil' faith in me!"

Arguz sits down on his creaky wooden chair, bone-thin tail switching at the back, and waits for a response. He can't admit it to Fahir but the detective doesn't have the same emotional chord with these deaths like Fahir does. Murders happen all the time in Ferroveil; these didn't seem any different at first. It is, however, Fahir's concern that matters. He's worried about what's happening to his friends, just as any other sibling would come to Arguz if their friends were murdered like this. He won't turn them down and, as much as Fahir drives his older brother crazy, Arguz isn't one to ignore him either.

Besides, Arguz really should do something about this if it happens to be more than a series of unfortunate murders; Lowtown already has enough trouble without murders on the rise.

[Capt. Infinity]

Fahir was admittedly quite floored by Arguz's sudden turn. And the action certainly painted a level of regret onto the younger Ratfolk's expression. But even still, a look of distaste pervaded him. And held fast as he looked his brother once more in the eye.

"I'm trying Arguz. Goddess help me I am TRYING to have faith in you. If I didn't, I wouldn't even be here in the first place." He grumbles out as a retort, clearly strained by the conversation as it weighs into his ever-present physical weakness. "But it's a damn sight hard t' thinka you as havin' a lock on things when every time. Every. Godsdamned. Time I see you, it sounds like, t'you, it's all one big frackin' game. Like it's some kinda part yer playin'." The young man implores, a tinge of genuine worry piercing through.

"I just... I'm just worried yer lookin' at all this too detached, Arguz. Like you're holdin' up some kinda wall between what yer doin' and what it makes ya. Playin' the part so hard y'don't know where you end an' it begins." The Ratfolk's voice meanders, a clear look of troubled thought on his face as he puts his lingering worries into words. "I get what yer doin' brother. That y'do it for ours an' yer own sake. To keep us happy. T'keep you sane. But no one's here but us Arg. And just once, just this once I wanna hear my brother Arguz take a job in his own f***in' voice. I want Arguz. Not just the great Detective Aijk." Fahir sighs, looking at his brother with solemn, sunken eyes.

"Please bro, just... Do it fer me."

[Starsign]

There is a small but noticeable shuddering from the detective. Arguz is caught off guard from Fahir's words, from his sincerity. Arguz always thought that Fahir's disapproval comes from the danger that happens to follow Arguz's cases. It's not like this is a safe job, as the ratfolk's numerous scars and burn marks can attest to, What really surprises Arguz, however, is the critique to his persona.

Arguz always takes a confident, sometimes witty, sometimes grim attitude to his cases. He rarely gets to speak from a position of strength and his job is one of those cases where he can. He enjoys pretending to be more dangerous than the people he's dealing with. This is the kind of image he likes being associated with even if it's just a persona taken out of enjoyment. Arguz, as himself, is often worried and often mallow as far as his family goes. Everything, everything he's done has been for their benefit and he's been horrified before when a family member gets involved in his cases.

And now Fahir is telling Arguz that this persona is becoming a problem. In a way, he's never really seen it as distancing himself from his family; he never thought that he's letting it, and his job, take over who he is. It's.... nonsense, it's absolute bull****. Fahir doesn't get it; Arguz has always, always been himself. The persona is just an act, a sense of being that Arguz likes to take out on his job.

...And yet Fahir's not wrong when he claims Arguz seems so detached, is he?

The detective's stern look fades into a weaker frown as he stays briefly silent; the ominously dark look to his face lightens up as he turns his head away slightly; light from the window courses down to his scar-ridden snout. "...Right, bro," he responds quietly; a tone of resignation comes from his dusty voice. He climbs out of the creaky wooden chair and walks around the desk to Fahir's side. "Whatever this all is, it ain't any sorta game to y'. Yer my bro," he continues, repeating from before. "An' no one 'sides ourselves cares for what happens to Warren-folk like us." Arguz holds back another dusty sigh. No one besides the Aijks cared that Deas, Bacr and Vallix died; the family has to look out for themselves and they have to take that seriously.

While a smile doesn't escape onto Arguz's snout, the black-furred ratfolk does his best to give Fahir a look or reassurance. "I'll look into it bro," the older brother says; his voice now softer, lacking the casual confidence he likes to display. "They're yer friends; we don't get a lotta 'em out in Ferroveil. So I'll see what I can do fer y' Fahir."

Arguz slowly turns his head back to the pictures on his desk, taking one and giving a look at it. "Can y' tell me more 'bout 'em bro?"

Arguz, at this moment, has no idea how to reassure Fahir about his persona on the job; it's a part of what makes Arguz a detective at this point and it's how he can help deal with his position in Ferroveil. It's not something that can be changed overnight. He's both the eldest son of the Aijk family and a dangerous, often-brutal killer with a gun; that's never going to change. But right now, just right now, Arguz can be Fahir's brother; that's who Fahir needs help from.