Chapter Text
Chapter One:
In which Slake debates between shades of blue, and Ono quite literally runs into an old friend.
Slake only visited Nakama when they absolutely had to. Which ended up being a few times a year, unfortunately. The old guardians met there when Fran and Falen came into port. They would catch up, spend the day together, then part ways again. Slake was leaving one of these catch up sessions, wiping away sweet tears that old friends tend to bring you. It’d been two years since they spent every day together, but Slake still shared their heart in goodbyes.
They were older now, a bit taller. A more sedentary lifestyle added a softness to their broad stature, but they travelled often enough to justify regular martial practice with Namavee. Slake never relished fighting. As an art teacher - rather than a Guardian - they appreciated the safety of New Estra. They liked to travel on lesser-known paths and, if needed, used non-lethal amounts of force. Their armor picked at their sides and felt heavy on their shoulders now. But Slake always made sure to tread carefully in Nakama.
The art studio needed supplies. It was past midday and if Slake wanted to be out of Nakama by nightfall, there was no time like the present. They looked to the street and held their hand out for a rickshaw.
***
Ono was still loyal to the Killoni, but it was becoming less and less clear as to what that meant now. Not that the signs from the twins were ever clear - Ono had interpreted splattered spaghetti on a wall, a joke written on an empty fruit case, and a set of jewels in a poor statues eyeballs - but what he heard now was so unclear that often Ono wondered if it was a sign at all. The clearest sign he got was years ago, to tail that hero named Slake. He wondered if he’d ever get a sign of them again.
Magic was spreading, he and everyone else in Avelis knew it. Mortals were randomly gifted with minor magics. Powers gods spent never seemed to truly replenish. Unsurprisingly, the Killoni were not pragmatic with their magic stores, for it was not the way of the Trickster nor the Thief. Ono wondered if he would one day be an old priest of ghosts rather than gods.
Another part of his religious doubt was due to a rather deadly development. Ono found increasingly few places they could go without running into someone who wanted him dead. They’d been chased across town seemingly dozens of times in the last few weeks. The pursuers were mercenaries, part of Julep’s crew. Ono wasn’t unfamiliar with pissing off the wrong merc, but they could not for the life of them remember doing something to inspire such commitment to his demise.
Ono’s biggest concern was that Julep’s crew could pick him out of a crowd rather quickly. He had no idea how they managed that. He checked the mirror often, and it seemed like his face kept its usual unremarkable features. He’d been tying Jonbo’s mask even tighter to his waist. Ono wondered if the magic from the mask was leaking into the world too. They sighed and climbed up further on the stone wall and listened for noise from the window above him.
See, the only way to learn more about his pursuers at this point was to find the contract in their office. And the only way to get in their office without being skewered into swiss cheese was to climb the side of the building and enter the second story window into the office. Then they needed to quickly and quietly find the contract and climb out. Hearing nothing above him, they opened the lockpicked window and stepped inside, toe before heel.
Mercenaries had their own cliches. Ono could not resist rolling their eyes when they spotted a wooden board on the wall with a series of illustrated faces, contracts, and notes all connected with strings. The Mint Juleps were known for finding rather elusive subjects in all of Avelis’ major cities. They would either capture or assassinate them, but Ono suspected his contract was the latter kind. An illustration of his mask was stabbed onto the board with a dagger, right through the left eye. They touched the skin below their own eye and gulped. He ripped the contract off the board and shoved it in their breast pocket.
Loud yelling and the thumps of footsteps climbing upstairs alerted him. It would seem that Ono needed to leave much more quickly than he’d planned. It wasn't necessarily rare for Ono to mess up a plan, he was mortal after all. But usually their caution and expertise lent to small oopsies, rather than big ‘oh shit’ moments. As Ono ran from the yelling and out through the window, he had to admit that his current circumstance landed strongly in the latter category. He tumbled down, softening his fall with a pile of trash gathered in the street.
“He’s in the alley! Get them!”
Ono didn’t need to be told twice. Quickly he picked himself up and bolted down the familiar streets of Nakama.
***
Slake held their chin thoughtfully, squinting their eyes to judge the different tints of paint. One of their students had been experimenting with gouache lately. While not necessarily Slake’s wheelhouse, they wanted to get quality goods for her.
“Which blue do you think is better, deep royal or champion’s cobalt?”
The shopkeep, with little patience left in his eyes, sighed “Champion’s Cobalt. Now is that all sir?”
“Well actually-”
But Slake did not get to finish their cerulean inquiries, since there was a ruckus outside the shop window. A large mercenary crew was breaking through the crowd and looked to be chasing someone.
Now, two years would be quite a long time to harbor a crush for someone. And Slake didn’t think it was a crush, at least not anymore. They had dated in New Estra of course, met with some nice and lovely people, had nice and lovely times. But they did all end, Slake thought .
Nothing had been wrong with them or Slake. Sometimes people just didn’t fit together. Slake tried not to let it get to them, but it was hard when Fran had Falen, Maeri had Laika, and Corbin had Alden (in a way). So they figured if they scanned the city crowds for a certain face each time they visited Nakama, it wasn’t necessarily a crush . Or if it was, then it was a small enough treat to take until Slake did find that person. But it wasn’t a crush. Slake was just…looking for a familiar face.
They never spotted him, of course. Or, maybe they had but Ono’s mask did the trick to make them blend with the crowd. Slake wasn’t sure. They leaned forward as they looked out the shop window and their brow furrowed.
There was a familiar face in the crowd... a familiarly unfamiliar face. Yes, it was a particularly nondescript face that Slake had once been unfamiliarly familiar with!
“Ono?”
The Killoni priest burst through the door. “Out of the way gentlefolks!” he shouted, but Slake was not quick enough. Ono ran straight into their chest. He bounced off dramatically with a spinning flourish before falling to the floor.
Gritting his teeth, Ono clutched the back of his head before looking up. Slake blinked slowly, looking down at him and offered an arm.
“My hero?” Ono looked confused and took Slake's arm.
They focused again and Slake’s gaze followed Ono’s out the window towards a rather closely approaching and angry batch of mercenaries. Slake looked to Ono, sure that he had done something to earn the chase, but also well aware that they wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Ono didn’t seem to be aware of Slake’s resignation, since they were delivering rather endearing puppy dog eyes to the retired Guardian.
“Quickly now!” Ono scrambled onto his feet.
Slake looked at the angry batch of mercenaries. They looked at their paints. They looked at Ono.
Angry mercs.
The paints.
Ono again.
“You-you…oh fine!!” They stuffed both blue pigments in their pocket and dropped a few silvers on the counter.
“Thank you sir!!” They shouted before following Ono through the back exit.
The pair scrambled into the back alley, Ono choosing to turn right before even looking both ways. Slake trusted his expertise and followed. They took out their picks and looked behind them to see a crew of roguish mercenaries wearing dark leathers with patches of pastel green. They shot arrows into the alley, narrowly missing the pair.
“Stop him!!” The mercenaries cried.
Ono turned again and ran into a crowded city square. He grabbed Slake’s wrist so they could follow without losing him. They crossed into the west side of the city. There was more distance and less arrows between them and the mercenaries, but not enough to lose them just yet.
“What did you do??!” Slake cried.
“Not the time!” Ono struggled to yell as they ran.
Slake rolled their eyes and turned to follow them down the winding streets of Nakama. Ono knew the city better than Slake, likely better than anyone, and the angry voices of the mercenaries behind them grew fainter and fainter. Eventually Ono slowed and stopped before what looked to be a dingy tool shed. He hunched over and released heavy breaths, with sweat dripping on the ground.
“My …hero,” Ono paused to breathe. “I believe… we’ll be safer… inside.”
His worried and exhausted expression made it hard for Slake to stay frustrated with him.
Not impossible, of course.
Just hard.
***
The room went completely dark as Ono shut the door behind them. Slake heard soft thumps of fingers tapping on glass before orange light filled the room from a round glass lantern in Ono’s hands. The dingy shed had no tools, only a staircase heading downwards.
Slake followed Ono to the lower level. They had to crouch under the short stone ceiling of Ono’s room. It must have been his room, Slake assumed, because there were fine rings, necklaces, and other small treasures all over the space. In the center of the room was a circular stone well that was now adorned with various fine jackets, pants, and blouses. The well itself looked out of use, but it was hard to tell as Slake couldn’t see the bottom.
The Killoni priest was still non-descript, but he seemed to be more settled as a human with warm umber skin. His face and age remained as much of a mystery as they did when they were seventeen. They supposed Ono seemed shorter now, probably a hands-length short of Slake. Taking off his overcoat revealed his mask, the one from Jonbo, tucked tightly into his belt. It seemed more worn, the white half dimmer and the black half a dark grey. Jonbo had been gone for a while now, Slake guessed. They shook their head, trying to focus on the present.
Ono invited them to sit on a long chest before a cluttered coffee table, where he set a ripped piece of parchment with a crimson wax seal.
“So…care to tell me what that was all about?” Slake gestured to the door as they looked down at Ono, who was hunched over and examining the seal intently.
They wiped sweat from their forehead as they straightened up. “A most rude welcome I’m afraid! How are you, Slake? Oh how I’ve missed you so!”
Ono approached for a handshake and suddenly Slake remembered their last, and their mind cruelly played a memory of a mask brushing the back of their hand. Their face turned dark green and Slake quickly pulled their hand away.
“I! Uh…no, no! You’re gonna…you’re gonna tell me why those guys are chasing you! …Now!”
“Alright, I will, I will. But perhaps we should have a beverage? Rehydrate after a thrilling chase?”
Slake could protest all they liked, but tea was made. Ono explained the increasing number of assassination attempts and the unfortunate circumstances in getting almost-caught.
“Do you even know what the contract is?”
“I only got a glimpse, but here, let’s take a look together.”
Dear Captain Julep,
More payment has been sent. The Killoni priest is rumored to have a hideout on the west end of the city. Keep working until we’re finally rid of them.
Yours,
Red
“...they’re close to finding this place.” Ono looked pale.
“Who’s this Red guy?” Slake checked the seal. It looked familiar, maybe Madrean, but they couldn’t remember which house it represented. Maeri would know.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have a different hideout? A friend you can stay with?”
“No.”
“Ah…that’s unfortunate. I…” Slake bit their lip, then opened their mouth again, then closed it. They weren’t sure what to say. They didn’t know how one could live their whole life in the same city and not have a single friend in it to stay with. At home, in New Estra, there was space Slake could make in their home studio for a bed…but they shook away the thought. Ono loved his home. If Slake knew anything, it was that Ono would never choose to leave Nakama.
“It would seem I need to leave Nakama.”
Huh?
“Yeah? I mean, yeah!” Slake agreed, naturally.
“The best city in the world.”
“Well-” Slake disagreed, even more naturally.
“And would you be so generous to escort me?”
Slake dropped their head and slowly looked over to Ono. They were looking down at their hands, picking at their cuticles. Slake remembered leaving the Red Caverns for the first time, and how nervous they were to go.
“...yeah. We can leave for New Estra tonight.”