Chapter Text
“This episode of ‘This Solesian Life’: the Disguise Kit—”
“—and the Sig Figs have officially announced a break—”
“— available officers, reported four-five-nine. Museum of Fine Arts, downtown. Estimated four-eight-six. Again, all available officers—”
Riz turns the radio down, quickly scribbling the codes in his notepad. Burglary. Grand theft. The museum is only nine blocks away from his apartment. It’s a no-brainer.
He scrambles to gather his stuff, haphazardly tossing his press pass and business cards into his bag. On his way out the door, he yells that he’s going for a walk to Gorgug, not knowing if he’s even in the apartment. He already has a text from Adaine when he starts to rush down the stairs.
burglary? already on my way. better catch up ;)
Riz rolls his eyes and pockets his phone. Adaine is the one who tells him to stop listening to the police scanner every hour of the day, but she’s just as bad. Hypocrite.
He walks as fast as he can, but fall is always a nightmare for traffic. Tourists are milling around the city, and college students swarm the streets in clusters, joking and catching up for the first time in months. Businesses have started to take down their outdoor dining areas, the nights too cold to enjoy comfortably without a jacket. Riz gets stuck at a faulty crosswalk light with the museum in sight and curses under his breath. There’s a gap in between the cars, just enough for him to slip through if he sprints. He times it, watching the driver of the first car turn down the street. One, two, three, four. He darts across the street, and the second car honks at him. He doesn’t care, he’s almost to the front entrance and Adaine is nowhere in sight.
In a shimmering burst of blue and silver light, Adaine appears not ten feet away from Riz on the steps of the museum. She’s still in her internship clothes, matching grey houndstooth blazer and skirt over a white button-up shirt, but her business-casual ensemble is disrupted by the Sword of Sight strapped to her hip in place of her bag.
“Damn,” She smiles at Riz. “I really thought I would get here before you.”
“Slow and steady wins the race, as the story goes.” Riz shrugs. Adaine laughs, then recollects herself, shifting into fierce focus.
“Let’s head in.” She says and walks up the stairs without waiting for Riz to follow. He huffs and leaps up after her, trying to make himself look somewhat distinguished as they approach the beat cops standing outside the entrance. One, a Halfling with salt-and-pepper hair and a stern expression, puts out a hand and frowns, straightening his posture.
“Woah there, this is a crime scene and active investigation. No civilians allowed.”
Riz smiles as Adaine looks at the officer and politely nods. He knows what she’s about to say from the confident glint in her eye. He loves when she does this.
“Well sir, I am very happy to let you know that we are not civilians.” She takes the cop’s hand and shakes it, not breaking eye contact with him. “Adaine Abernant-O’Shaughnessey, the Oracle of Spyre. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Riz knows ‘Oracle of Spyre’ is no title to sneeze at, and by the looks of the cops, they know it too. Just before they started college, Adaine was awarded her title in a grand ceremony by the Council of Chosen. It was magically broadcast to even the darkest and most remote corners of Spyre, so that everyone would know the Oracle’s face and name.
The cop’s eyes widen, but he holds his stoic expression. “Officer Toegold, Madame Oracle. It’s an honor, but I can’t let you in.”
Adaine shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest. She looks down at Riz and raises her eyebrows, subtly rolling her eyes before she turns back to the officers.
“We’re here to help with the investigation. That’s all.” She pauses, and her eyes flash white for just a second. “I wonder what your sergeant would say if he found out you were spending your shift placing bets on wyrm races?”
Toegold blanches, and the officer beside him stifles a laugh. Meekly, Toegold makes eye contact with Adaine.
“I’ll bring you to Hammerguard.” He turns and opens the door, leading Adaine and Riz into the entryway. Adaine meets Riz’ eyes for a moment and he hears her voice in his head.
“They’re always so predictable.”
Riz quietly laughs.
He hasn’t stepped inside the Museum of Fine Arts since his freshman year at BCU. He went with his mom as she guided them on a tour of Bastion City from her memory of living there. Riz likes art museums. They’re quiet and clean, and a perfect place to lose himself in the mind of other people, look at how they see the world. He doesn’t get the chance to visit often, despite living so close.
The entryway is just as Riz remembers it; concrete archways and columns extending up to a balcony and domed ceiling with gold fleur-de-lis engraved into meter-wide panels. Red velvet ropes cordon off hallways closed to visitors and create lanes leading up to the ticket desk. Now, however, crime scene tape hangs beside the ropes, and instead of tourists and local visitors, uniformed officers are milling around.
Toegold leads them down a series of turning beige hallways hung with dozens of masterpieces into a much grander gallery. It’s covered in crime scene tape, and Riz spots orange evidence markers leading up to a massive empty frame on the far wall.
Standing in front of the frame, their backs to Adaine and Riz, is a stout Dwarf wearing a police sergeant’s uniform and a taller man in a red captain’s coat. Riz recognizes the Dwarf as the police sergeant, Erias Hammerguard. His long red beard is braided, highlighted with streaks of natural grey. Although he’s facing away, Riz knows his eyes are dark, steely, and hold laser focus. There are very few things a person can do to intimidate Riz anymore given the laundry list of apocalyptic events he’s faced, but the few times he’s met Hammerguard’s unyielding gaze, it was completely unreadable to him. It makes his skin crawl.
“Gentlemen,” Toegold says. “The Oracle of Spyre is here to assist with the investigation.”
Both men turn, and Riz’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest. The pirate’s formerly relaxed posture perks up, and a familiar face with the brightest smile Riz has ever seen turns to face them.
It’s been almost a year since Riz last saw Fabian, right before he left with his crew on the Lumenelda . Since then, he’s grown his hair out into long platinum locs tied back at the nape of his neck. Stubble creates a slight shadow along his jaw, drawing attention to the sharp angles of his face. He’s wearing a new eyepatch that looks like dragonhide, deep red scales contrasting with the scar tissue that cuts through his eyebrow and down to the bottom of his left cheek.
He’s traded his usual ‘athleisure couture’ look for professional adventuring garb; a leather chest plate over a white silk shirt, his scarlet captain’s coat catching the light just enough to see the shimmering gold thread weaved through the fabric. Even Riz, pretty much completely useless when it comes to magic, can tell the coat radiates with incredibly potent arcane energy.
It’s not just the clothes that have changed, Riz notes. Fabian’s entire demeanor has shifted since they’d seen each other last. He holds himself differently, higher, not with arrogance but confidence. Riz has seen Fabian through many stages of life, from the formation of their adventuring party, to graduation, to becoming a full-time adventurer.
A feeling he can’t place settles deep in his chest as Fabian strides up to them. Riz knows, knew when Fabian left on his quest, that he wouldn’t come back exactly the same. It’s better than returning shell-shocked and timid, he supposes. But that feeling starts to spread to his stomach, twisting it into knots as he looks at Fabian’s smile, his lips, his teeth, the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners. He has dark circles under his eyes, just barely visible against his skin. He hasn’t been sleeping well, or at least he hasn’t in the past few days. Riz knows the feeling, his own dark circles permanently casting a shadow under his eyes since he was thirteen.
When Fabian reaches them, he doesn’t hug them, probably to keep up appearances in front of the cops, instead going to shake both Riz and Adaine’s hands.
“Good to see you guys.” Fabian gently squeezes Riz’s hand before he lets go, stepping back into line with Hammergaurd and returning to his ‘adventurer’ posture.
The sergeant nods to Adaine and Riz, but does not approach to shake their hands. “Sergeant Hammerguard. It’s an honor to have your assistance, Madame Oracle.” His eyes fall on Riz, and there’s a subtle twitch of his eyebrow.
Although Riz knows him, they’ve never been formally introduced. Riz recognizes his stoic expression from old photos of his mom’s early days in the BCPD, as well as various events he covered for the paper. His mom didn’t know Hammergaurd well during her time on the force, but his reputation for stringent orders and incredible deductive skills preceded him, so she said. Riz is inclined to agree.
“Gukgak. Sklonda and Pok’s, son I presume?” Hammergaurd says. Riz nods.
“Riz Gukgak. Nice to meet you.”
Hammergaurd huffs in agreement then turns toward the empty frame on the wall.
“As I was just saying to Captain Seacaster, early this morning the museum’s security alarm was triggered in this gallery. When the guard came in, there was no trace of anyone, and this portrait was missing.”
“Teleportation?” Adaine asks. Hammergaurd shakes his head.
“I had my mages check the scene three times over. Couldn’t find a thing. I’ve never seen it before in my life. I’m about one more unexplainable circumstance away from calling a priest. If it wasn’t magic, it must’ve been an act of a god.”
Adaine meets Riz’s gaze, eyebrows raised. “May we take a look?” She asks, gesturing to the room at large.
Hammergaurd nods curtly. “Knock yourselves out. Captain Seacaster and I have matters to discuss.” He takes Fabian’s arm and leads him away from Riz and Adaine. Fabian flashes a quick smile to Riz before he returns to his conversation with the Sergeant.
Wordlessly, Adaine walks over to an evidence marker and begins to cast a spell. Riz doesn’t mind. When they work together, they’ve found that they are most productive when they investigate separately and compare notes afterward. His eyes land on the portrait frame, intricately carved gold that has been tarnished from years of exposure. Up close, he can just barely see where the canvas was cut from the frame. It would’ve been seamless, had whoever took the portrait not rushed in removing it just as the final cut was made. A single scrap of canvas remains in the bottom right corner of the frame.
Although the frame has already been dusted for fingerprints, Riz produces his own testing kit to see for himself. He doesn’t trust the officers to be wholly compliant if he asks to see the results (they haven’t in the past).
He takes notes in his head, each clue he discerns being tacked up to the conspiracy board behind his eyes. The painting was cut with a knife and, from what Riz can tell, no magic was used to remove the painting itself. The frame is clean of fingerprints, to Riz’s annoyance. He takes a step back, examining the surroundings of the frame.
The velvet rope in front of where the painting stood hasn’t been touched. The floor is clean of debris, like the burglars cleaned up after they left. That doesn’t make any sense, Riz thinks to himself. If something startled the thief enough that they missed a part of the canvas, why isn’t there any more physical evidence?
“Anything good?”
Riz startles at Fabian’s voice in his ear. He didn’t hear him approach. As Riz catches his breath, he shakes his head.
“It doesn’t make sense. There’s almost no sign that whoever did this was even here, except they left part of the canvas in the frame. But that’s the only thing here.”
Fabian nods, pursing his lips. He looks at the empty frame, furrowing his brows.
“It had to have been more than one person then, right?”
“Definitely. Someone calling the shots, someone doing the dirty work. I just don’t know how many or who they were. I’ll need more time.”
Riz is already itching to head back to his apartment and start working on a case board. He’s got to go through his files, see if there’s anything similar in them that can lead him in the right direction. His heartbeat is stammering in his chest, partially from the thrill of a new case, and perhaps from Fabian’s hand on his shoulder.
“What do you know about it?” Riz asks.
“Not much,” Fabian shrugs, removing his hand from Riz’s shoulder. “I got in late last night, Hammergaurd called me before I could get back to my place.” He points to the gold plaque beside the frame.
“It’s not a classic or anything, wasn’t painted by anyone notable. I think it’s a portrait of one of the original members of the Council of Chosen, a Wood Elf. Hammergaurd is worried that it’s a political statement; I don’t know what kind of statement, but that’s what he thinks.”
“Got it.” Riz snaps a picture of the plaque with his crystal, as well as one of the empty frame. “I can’t think of any fringe groups that would do this off the top of my head, if the political statement theory is true. I could ask Kristen about it.”
“Gods, did you get more serious since I left?” Fabian laughs. “I haven’t seen you in like, a year! I thought you would be interrogating me about what I’ve been up to.”
Riz rolls his eyes, but there’s no contempt in it. “My life doesn’t revolve around you, Fabian.”
“I know that, The Ball —” Riz guffaws at the old nickname. “I just missed you.”
Riz’s heart races in his chest under the gaze of Fabian’s dark eye. His stomach starts to twist again, but he ignores the feeling. “I missed you too.”
Adaine approaches them, looking nonplussed. “Anything over here? Because I didn’t get much.”
Riz shakes his head. “A little bit of canvas, but that’s it. What did you find?”
Adaine crosses her arms. “Minor conjuration magic, probably to hide evidence. Nothing came up Good or Evil, no Fey. The museum has some wards to prevent teleportation, so that eliminates one thing.”
“That makes sense.” Riz says.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t explain how they got in.” Adaine huffs. “There had to be a group, they were in and out so quickly. I’m thinking inside job. They’re interviewing the guards now, but I don’t know if they’ll tell us anything.”
“Well,” Fabian says, “If we’ve got some time, I’d love to catch up with you all. I believe everyone is in town, right? Let’s grab dinner! I’m buying.”
“That’s all you had to say.” Adaine smiles.
***
That evening, Riz and Gorgug walk down to Mulligan’s. It’s a small hole-in-the-wall, completely unassuming from the outside. If it weren’t for the sign at the end of the alleyway, nobody would know it was even there. Inside, however, it comes to life.
Old wooden tables are packed with patrons, with strings of lights hanging from the low ceiling just barely above their heads. The circular bar at the back of the room is a perfect vantage point to watch the live band on a minuscule stage on the far wall. It smells like greasy food and cigarettes and beer, but it feels like coming home, especially with Fabian’s smiling face as the first one Riz sees when he steps in.
Fabian has traded his captain’s coat for a dark button-down shirt rolled up to the elbows. From the way the dim light reflects off the fabric, Riz thinks it’s silk. Fabian already has a glass of whiskey in his hand, and he jumps up from his seat at the bar to give Riz and Gorgug bone-crushing hugs.
“Hello, hello!” Fabian says. “Everyone’s at the bar already, thought we would be drunk before you got here.”
Riz glances down at his watch and raises an eyebrow. “We’re two minutes late, c’mon man.”
Fabian shrugs and sips from his glass. “I’m poking fun. Now, I’m gonna get you two some drinks. What do you want?”
“Cider’s fine.” Gorgug says. Fabian nods and points at Riz.
“The usual?”
Riz nods and Fabian turns away, knowing Gorgug and Riz will follow.
The crowd parts like the sea for Fabian, who is holding his glass above his head, just narrowly missing the ceiling. He leads them to the back corner of the bar, where their other friends have gathered. Adaine, Fig, and another woman are rapt in conversation, not even looking up when they approach.
Fig has fresh color in her hair, an electric blue streak that falls just across her forehead, and a geometric pattern shaved into the side. Despite the cold, she’s wearing a sleeveless shirt to show off her gallery of tattoos. Instead of a blazer, Adaine wears a frayed BCU hoodie she got their freshman year. The woman, although Riz doesn’t recognize her at first, is Kristen. He hasn’t seen her since the Summer Solstice, and in just a few months she’s grown out her hair to fall above her shoulders, with one side dyed black down the middle.
“The boys are here!” Fabian sing-songs, drawing the girls’ attention.
“Nice hair! It looks so cool.” Gorgug says and gives Kristen a quick hug.
Without Fabian even saying anything, a bottle of hard cider is placed in front of Gorgug, and a ginger ale in front of Riz. For a moment Riz thinks Fabian Messaged the bartender, but when he looks up he’s met with Tracker’s dark eyes and sharp smile.
“I didn’t know you were working tonight!” Riz says, smiling at them.
“I caught wind you guys were meeting up, so I picked up a shift.” They wink at Kristen, who rolls her eyes. “But it’s busy, so I can’t hang out. Have fun!”
Before Riz can even thank them, Tracker is already at the other side of the bar taking an order.
“So…” Fabian starts, addressing the group. “Aren’t you dying to hear me recount my thrilling months-long quest?”
“I don’t think we have a choice.” Adaine pokes Fabian’s side, and he jumps to get away from her.
“Absolutely not.” Fabian says once he settles back into his seat.
Fabian has always been a dramatic storyteller, and this time is no different. Riz figures a few moments are enhanced for effect, but he’s happy to watch as Fabian hunches over the bar in an attempt to mimic the sea monster he faced. Even when the story dies down and they order some appetizers to share, Riz is enraptured by Fabian’s presence.
The conversation shifts, going back and forth between catching up and attempting to distract Tracker while they’re working. After their eyes flash yellow when Kristen tries to order some convoluted cocktail, they decide it’s better to let them be.
“Did you guys hear what happened at the art museum?” Fig asks, stealing a fry off Adaine’s plate.
“Oh! Fabian, Riz, and I were actually there earlier to check it out.” Adaine says.
Fabian nods. “Yeah, a robbery. All they took was a portrait of some original member of the Council of Chosen.”
“Wait,” Riz pulls out his phone and opens up the photo he took earlier of the portrait’s description. He begins reading it aloud.
“ Riardon , oil on canvas. One of the founding members of the Council of Chosen, alongside Arthur Agueforth and the Elven Oracle, Elimenthendirel. Originally from the Forest of Sylvaire, he was a powerful ranger and in some circles was heralded as the first ‘Monster Slayer.’ He disappeared shortly after the defeat of Kalvaxus and has been presumed dead. Some believe he was killed by the Nightmare King.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of him!” Fig says. “There was a fantasy Netflix documentary about these historians trying to find out what happened to him. His death was, like, the first unsolved murder case in Solace.”
“That’s… interesting. But why did the robbers just take his portrait? Wouldn’t there be stuff that’s way more valuable in the museum?” Gorgug asks.
Riz shrugs. “Probably.”
“Police sergeant thinks it’s a political statement,” Fabian chimes in. “I don’t know what the political significance of a man’s portrait is, but—”
“How did they even get in?” Kristen asks.
“My bet’s on inside job.” Adaine takes a sip of her drink, and Fig steals another fry.
Gorgug raises his eyebrows. “Did the cops say anything about that?”
“No, but it’s the only theory that makes sense to me.” Adaine says. “You can’t teleport inside the museum, but there’s only one security desk. It wouldn’t be that hard to slip past them.”
“And cops don’t tell us shit anyway.” Riz grumbles, swirling the ice around his glass. Fabian bought him a rum and coke and he couldn’t find it in him to refuse.
“If you need someone to help you out, I know a guy on the force. He’s chill.” Fig says.
All eyes turn to her, shocked. “ You’re friends with a cop?” Adaine guffaws.
Fig puts her hands in the air. “I didn’t know he was a cop when I met him! He came to a couple of our shows this past tour and we’ve sort of kept in touch. If you don’t want his help then forget I mentioned it.”
“Give me his number.” Riz surprises himself by saying. “If he can help, I’ll forget he’s a cop.”
Fig nods and opens her crystal. Riz’s crystal vibrates in his pocket in a specific pattern he’d customized for Fig’s messages; two short, one long, and a final short burst.
“Why does Hammergaurd think it’s a political statement?” Adaine asks Fabian, who shrugs.
“He wouldn’t elaborate. Said they had been tracking ‘suspicious crimes’ and trying to connect them to a threat against a politician from a few years ago.” He nods his head at Kristen, who’s locked in a staring contest with Tracker.
“Have you heard anything about, I don’t know, cults? Anarchist political groups?”
Kristen begrudgingly breaks eye contact to face Fabian. She considers the question for a moment, tapping her fingers on the bar.
“The anarchists are the same as usual, from what I’ve heard.” A flash of realization crosses across her face. “I did hear from Zayn that there’s been more undead activity than usual though. I don’t know if that’s what’s happening here though.” She shrugs.
“It’s worth checking out,” Riz says, making a mental note.
“You’ve got that look on your face,” Adaine says. “Please don’t lock yourself in your room trying to figure this out.”
Riz brushes off the comment with a laugh. “I wasn’t going to. I just haven’t had an interesting case in a while. I won’t lock myself in my room, promise.”
Well, there goes his plans for the rest of the night.
It’s not that Riz sets out to isolate himself, he just gets really into his research. That’s what got him into BCU, what’s kept him on the Dean’s List for the past three years. He’ll crack open a textbook to study at 9 p.m. and then suddenly he’ll hear birds calling outside his window. That’s how he operates, how everyone in his family operates. Sure, it’s led him to lose years’ worth of sleep and sometimes forget to eat, but he’s been fine thus far. If it ain’t broke, as they say.
The moment passes and no one presses him any further, the conversation shifting to jokes and gossip about what’s going on in Elmville. The Bad Kids settle into their old ways no matter how long they’ve been apart, or how far they’ve come. They could be stranded in a desert with nothing around them for miles and they would still find a way to keep going. It’s just how they are.
Adaine is the first to leave, something about helping Aelwyn study for an upcoming test. She started law school last month, which has, unfortunately, put a pause on their once-daily word game tournaments, but Riz can’t blame her for that.
Gorgug, once finished with his second cider, briefly nods at Riz as a wordless signal to head home. It’s past midnight, but the bar is even livelier than when they arrived. Riz stands first and waves goodbye to Tracker, then turns to the rest of the group.
“I think we’re gonna head back, but we need to meet up again before one of you heads off on another adventure.” He smiles, his cheeks a little warm from the drink and his posture looser.
“We’re on a break from touring, so I’ll be around for a while.” Fig gestures to Gorgug. “Text the group chat when you’re free and we’ll make it work.”
“Have a good night guys! Love you! Text us when you’re home.” Kristen says, slightly too loud. She’s only gotten a little better at handling alcohol since their Aguefort days.
Fabian doesn’t say anything, but nods and smiles at Gorgug and Riz as they stand up. He’s easily had the most to drink but seems largely unaffected, save for a glassy sheen over his eye. Riz catches one last look at him as he’s stepping out the door, just to cement it in his head that he’s really here.
Gorgug goes to bed immediately as they arrive back at the apartment. Riz, surprisingly, isn't that far behind; alcohol makes him sleepy. He does crack open a book from one of his old elective classes, The Undead: A Comprehensive Guide to the Not-So Departed , but he drifts off at his desk, still in his clothes from the day.
***
The sound of a wailing police siren rouses Riz from sleep, and he groans as pain shoots down his spine from a crick in his neck. He really needs to stop falling asleep at his desk.
When he checks his crystal he has two unread texts, one from Fig from last night and the other from his Mom, asking if he’s seen Fabian since he got back in town. He doesn’t question how his mom found out Fabian was back so quickly, he’d stopped wondering how she knew what she did a long time ago. He types out a quick reply, then looks at Fig’s message.
Nothing fancy, just a name and phone number. Spencer Morrigan. Riz writes it down in his notebook at the top of his notes from his copy editing class, circling it four times. He can already feel the threat of sleep creeping at the corners of his eyes so he heads out to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. All of his joints crack when he stands up and he sighs, hoping Gorgug didn’t hear it.
He’s surprised to find coffee already made, still warm. Then he sees the note on the fridge written in Gorgug’s chicken scratch.
Went out to lunch with Seven, they just got back from the Dune Fort. Gonna get groceries after. Text anything you want/need. Don’t drink all the coffee before noon. :)
Riz rolls his eyes at the last part and pours himself a cup. He continues on with his usual morning routine, albeit later in the day than it usually takes place. He checks his email, walks around the apartment to make sure everything's in its proper place, then settles down on the couch with his notepad and favorite pen to call Fig’s contact.
He’s not concerned about calling a stranger out of the blue, he’s done enough phone interviews for the paper that he has almost no fear of talking on the phone anymore.
The phone rings three times before it’s picked up, there’s a pause on the other end before a low, raspy voice says, “Spencer Morrigan.”
“Hi Spencer, this is Riz Gukgak. I’m a friend of Fig Faeth’s, she gave me your number because I have some questions about the museum case and said you could help me out. Are you at the station right now?”
Riz can hear the buzz of conversation in the bullpen before Spencer replies. When he does, there’s a familiar harshness to his voice, a sign of a long-term smoker.
“I am. Are you a journalist?” Spencer asks. Riz can hear the condescension in his voice but ignores it.
“Yes, but this isn’t for a paper. Call it a personal investigation.”
Spencer sighs on the other end. “Alright. I’ll meet you outside and we can talk. But I am working, so it can’t take too long.”
“Of course,” Riz says. “I understand, thank you. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”
The call ends without another word from Spencer, and Riz rolls his eyes. Cops.
He downs the rest of his coffee and only bothers to change his shirt before grabbing his bag and rushing down the stairs. The downtown station is about eight blocks from the apartment, on a good day it takes him less than ten minutes to get there. Unfortunately, downtown is crowded with tourists again, a curse of the weekends. He figures it’ll take him about eleven minutes to get to the plaza. Bitter wind bites through his shirt and vest and Riz laments that he didn’t think to grab his coat before he left.
When he approaches the station, a brutalist ten-story building of solid concrete, he spots a figure tucked off to the far corner, though not far enough from the door that they couldn’t make a run for it if they didn’t like Riz’s questions.
He’s smoking, just as Riz suspected he would, and doesn’t put out the cigarette when Riz walks up to him.
“Spencer Morrigan?” He asks, and Spencer nods.
“You must be Riz. Pleasure to meet you.” He extends a hand for him to shake, and Riz notices a pale series of scars across his palm. He doesn’t ask about them.
Spencer is a Half-Elf that looks to be in his late 20s, possibly early 30s, though it’s always hard to tell with Half-Elves. His skin is olive-toned like a Wood Elf’s, with deep brown eyes and thick hair that falls just above his shoulders. Easily a foot taller than Riz, though probably more. A scar leads up from below his collar onto his cheek, stopping just under his eye socket. He’s a detective from what Riz can tell, his badge hanging on a chain around his neck over a button-up and tie. Like Riz, he’s not wearing a jacket, but he doesn’t seem to mind the cold. He holds the cigarette at his hip between his middle fingers and notices Riz looking at it, but doesn’t comment.
“So, you said you had some questions for me?”
“Yes.” Riz puts his hands into his pockets in an attempt to hide the fact that he’s shivering. “I was wondering what you could tell me about the burglary at the art museum yesterday.”
Spencer narrows his brows. “That case just opened, there’s barely any info about it. How did you find out about it?”
In one fluid motion, Riz produces his business card. “I’m a private investigator.”
Spencer’s eyes widen, but he takes the card and reads it over. He sighs and shoves it into his pocket. “Of course you are.”
He leans against the wall of the station, taking a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling the smoke.
Riz finds it odd how calmly people can smoke. Spencer’s shoulders seem to lighten when he inhales, the weight returning once he exhales. Riz never liked smoking, whenever he tried it. It burns his throat and makes him cough too much to be enjoyable. He can’t fathom anything besides the physical addiction to keep someone smoking.
Spencer catches his eye for a moment and holds the cigarette at his hip, flicking the ash off the end of it. “This stuff will kill me, my lungs will go black, I lose ten minutes every time I smoke, blah blah blah.” He chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “I’ve heard it all before.” He takes another drag.
“It’s actually only six minutes, not ten.” Riz says. Spencer laughs at that, the lines around his eyes crinkling up as he smiles.
“Of course you would know that.” He sighs. “You know a lot of stuff, don’t you, Gukgak?”
Riz feels something pull at his chest when he says that. “I know that you shouldn’t be smoking when you’re so young.”
Spencer shrugs. “I don’t know. I think it kind of fits with the whole detective vibe, don’t you?”
“Pair it with insomnia and a caffeine addiction and you’re a gold-star crime solver.” Riz quips. Spencer laughs dryly at that and breathes out another cloud of smoke.
“So you want to know what happened at the museum.” Spencer says, then pauses. “I’ll tell you we don’t know jack shit. They were in and out, only took one painting.”
“Hammergaurd said he thinks it was a political statement. What do you know about that?” Riz asks.
“Helio, were you there ?” Spencer looks taken aback. When Riz nods, he mutters something under his breath Riz can’t catch.
“Yeah, there was a threat made against an ambassador to the Baronies at the beginning of the year. We’ve been keeping tabs on anything weird and or political ever since. We don’t know their intentions, or if any of the cases we’ve documented are actually connected, but it’s what we have.”
“Which ambassador to the Baronies was it?” He asks. Adaine is interning for an ambassador to the Baronies. If he can get information through her, it’ll only make this easier to figure out.
Spencer shrugs. “I don’t remember off the top of my head. I can send you a copy of the case file if you want to go through it yourself.”
Riz raises his eyebrows. It usually takes far more convincing for a cop to give up case information, and he doesn’t think he’s ever had one offer it to him without expecting something in return.
“Sure, that would be great. My email’s on the card.” He does his best to hide his surprise, but his voice pitches up at the end. Spencer doesn’t seem to notice. “Thanks.”
“Welcome. I figure it wouldn’t do any harm. Fig spoke very highly of you.” He takes a final drag from his cigarette before crushing it under his heel. He looks down at his watch and nods his head to the door.
“Should probably head back. Feel free to text me if you need anything else. I’ll get the file to you by tonight.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Riz says. Spencer is already walking away and doesn’t turn around to say,
“Don’t mention it. Take it easy, Gukgak.”
Riz watches him walk back into the station, astounded by how well that meeting went. He really needs to thank Fig.
He starts to head back to his apartment, but stops at the plaza crosswalk when he feels a text from Fabian in his pocket.
Want to grab coffee? I’m downtown.
Riz could definitely go for another coffee if he’s going to have an entire case file to work through. He quickly types a reply to Fabian,
definitely. meet me @ west and 34th.
Fabian’s response is instantaneous.
I knew you would say that. Be there in five.
***
It’s a short walk from the station to the coffee shop, but Fabian is already waiting outside when Riz walks up.
He’s wearing a dark wool overcoat that stops mid-thigh, his hair is piled on top of his head in a bun. He pockets his crystal and greets Riz with a wide smile that’s enough to make him forget the chill in the air.
“Do you not have a coat?” Fabian asks, furrowing his brow. Riz shrugs.
“I was in a rush. Didn’t check the weather.”
Without another word, Fabian sheds his jacket and places it around Riz’s shoulders, despite his protests.
“I don’t mind the cold, Fabian…” Riz attempts. Fabian shakes his head.
“You’re shivering. Just put on the damn coat.” He smiles.
The coat falls to Riz’s knees and doesn’t fit him right, but the warmth, both from the jacket and Fabian’s gesture, makes it so he doesn’t even mind.
Fabian opens up the door, gesturing for Riz to go ahead. “After you.”
Although it’s out of the way from his usual route, this is Riz’s favorite coffee shop in Bastion City. The atmosphere is cozy year-round, but especially during the fall and winter. Antique books and newspapers line the shelves on the walls, a handwritten chalkboard menu behind the counter. Overstuffed leather couches and chairs are situated by windows, allowing privacy for patrons who need a place to work. Riz has spent many hours of his college career tucked away into a corner working on articles and essays for class.
The crackling fire on the far wall is one of the first things Riz hears when he walks in, along with a healthy rumble of conversation and baristas calling out orders from behind the counter. One catches Riz’s eye and waves.
“You know what you’re getting?” Fabian asks. Riz nods.
“Yeah. Ready when you are.”
Fabian takes that as his cue to step up to the counter, flashing a dazzling smile at the nervous barista. He orders an iced latte and an old-fashioned. Riz gets his usual: black coffee with a shot of espresso. Fabian insists on paying, although Riz doesn’t protest much. Having someone to pay for your food is always nice.
“It’s freezing out and you’re drinking an iced coffee?” Riz laughs as they walk to find a spot near the fireplace. Thankfully, a set of chairs is free.
“I was deprived of it for seven months, I deserve this.” Fabian says. He sinks down into one of the chairs just as Riz sits across from him.
“Fair enough.” Riz shrugs.
It’s warm in the cafe, especially by the fireplace, but Riz doesn’t take off Fabian’s coat. It’s comforting, in a way. More evidence that he’s actually here and not heading back out on another quest before it feels like he even got back. Riz fiddles with a loose button.
Their order gets called and Fabian grabs it, placing Riz’s cup on a napkin in front of him. Half of his latte is already gone by the time he sits down.
“So,” Fabian takes a bite out of his donut. “What were you doing out and about on a Sunday morning?”
“Meeting up with Fig’s cop friend.” Fabian grimaces.
“And how was that?”
“Better than I’d hoped.” Riz admits. “He said he would send me the museum case file when he got the chance.”
Fabian raises his eyebrow. He’s wearing a different eyepatch now, made of simple black fabric. It’s not as ‘fashionable’ as the dragonhide, but it covers more of his scar.
“That’s good.” He takes a sip of his latte and a line of foam appears on his top lip. “Kind of suspicious, honestly.”
“I’m just happy it’s something .” Riz says. He wipes his lip with his thumb, hoping Fabian will get the hint. He doesn’t.
“You have a little…” Riz gestures to his lip again and Fabian catches on, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
“Thanks.” Fabian says quietly.
After a moment, Riz watches the fire, the flames dancing and crackling on the wood. He thinks of the fire elemental Fabian danced with on Fallinel, him watching as it burned him from the inside. He looks back up at Fabian.
“Yeah.” He pauses. “I’m interested to see what’s in the file. Hopefully, I can connect some dots they wouldn’t have thought to.”
“I’m sure you will.” Fabian says with utmost confidence. “You always do.”
Riz looks down at his coffee.
“I’m serious, you could probably find out what happened to the guy in the portrait with nothing but a stack of sticky notes and a pen. Maybe less than that.” Fabian continues.
Riz laughs. “I don’t know about that.”
“You’ve worked with less. You always figure out who killer was in Fantasy Clue before everyone else.”
“That’s up to chance! If you know how many cards there are, you can categorically eliminate—”
“I don’t want to know how you do it!” Fabian cuts him off. “It ruins the illusion.”
Riz rolls his eyes. “Oh-kay.”
Fabian finishes his coffee in one big gulp. “So… got anything else going on?”
Riz can’t help but laugh.
“Is my life that boring to you now?”
“No! I just—no offense—don’t want to hear about your classes. I specifically went out of my way to avoid that shit.”
“My best friend isn’t supportive of my academics, I can’t believe this.” Riz jokes.
“It’s not that I’m not supportive, of course I am. I just don’t care about the content .”
Riz gasps, mocking surprise. “You’re telling me you don’t want to hear about proper journalistic style?”
“Fuck no, I don’t!” Fabian jokes. An older group side-eyes them, but Fabian either doesn’t notice or doesn’t seem to care.
“Well, then there’s not much else. I’m not fighting sea monsters or smugglers every week like you.”
“It was more like every other week.”
“Whatever.” Riz shakes his head. He missed Fabian, but not his constant snarkiness. Though it is somewhat of a package deal, he supposes.
“What about you? Got any plans for being back on the mainland?” Riz asks. Fabian looks down at his hands, thinking.
“I was going to visit Mama and Cathilda sometime this week. Maybe Papa if I can track him down.” He shrugs. “Other than that, the world is my oyster.”
“That’s nice. Did you stay in contact with your mom and Cathilda when you were away?”
Fabian infrequently had service while on the seas. He was basically cut off from the rest of the world for the better part of a year. Whenever he and his crew stopped at a port he sent out letters, but that wasn’t often.
Riz only got one letter from Fabian during his quest; pages of meticulously described characters and transcribed conversations, a thrilling series of highlights, and a surprisingly earnest final paragraph, the final line of which has stuck with Riz for months.
I think about you when I’m overwhelmed, because I know that if you were here I would have no reason to be afraid.
“I sent them letters, but I don’t know if they were ever received. I guess I’ll find out.” Fabian says.
They sit in silence for a few moments, coffee cups empty on the table in front of them. Riz fidgets in his seat. Fabian clears his throat.
“Are you heading back home?” He asks.
Riz nods. “Yeah. I was gonna see if I could get a head start on the case.”
“Well,” Fabian stands up and brushes the donut crumbs off his lap. “I’ll walk you back.”
They return their cups to the counter and step out into the brisk air again, although this time Riz is far warmer. Fabian doesn’t shiver, even without his coat.
The walk back to Riz’s apartment goes by quickly, Fabian carrying on conversation about the breeds of dogs they pass and the acrid smell of cigarettes. They turn onto Riz’s block and he starts to take off the coat to return it to Fabian, but he shakes his head.
“Keep it. It suits you.”
Riz raises an eyebrow, doubtful. “It’s three sizes too big.”
“You’ll grow into it.”
“Yeah, like I haven’t heard that one before.” Riz laughs.
Fabian smiles fondly. “It looks good on you. Besides, you can give it back next time I see you.”
“Which will be…?”
Fabian shrugs. “Don’t know yet. I’ll text you.”
He gives Riz a tight hug, engulfing him in Fabian’s cologne and the unmistakable scent of sea salt.
“See you later, Riz.” Fabian waves and begins to walk further down the sidewalk.
“Bye.”
Riz walks up the stairs to his apartment, his heart stammering in his chest. Must’ve been the coffee.