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Richter was forced out of the Blooming Rose just as the morning sun came to rise. His shaved-over head sported a bleeding cut and wine stained over his shoulders.
"Come on, Mother, I didn't mean anything by it!" He cried back to the door as he scrambled to catch his footing.
"Monsieur Johann Richter, you verbally abused our employee." An Orlesian woman stepped out of the establishment behind him. She had a bob of silvery grey hair and a horrid scar across her cheek that removed a section of her upper lip. Dressed in Chantry garb with gold trims and missing two fingers on her left hand, she still brandished a freshly shattered bottle in her right. "Until you provide monetary concession and a formal, personal apology you are hereby banned from patronage of the Blooming Rose."
"Hey now, listen up. I work f-" The Ander stumbled to his feet, growling his threat.
"I know who you work for, Monsieur. If I must contact your employer and discuss with her the circumstances of your ban, then I shall be sure to do so in great detail." The Mother returned calmly, with hand on her hip and daggers in her eyes.
"Shitting ass of a genlock!" Richter threw his hands to the air as he roared. "Fine, I'll be back with a bag of coin and a cheery fucking grin, hag!"
"Richter? You're drawing attention with all that bloody noise!" Carver Hawke stepped up from Lowtown, not daring to curb his smug annoyance with authority even now.
"Carver, my boy! Glad to see you, I've got some things I need to burn and I need your help with it." Richter dropped a sticky arm around Carver's shoulders, at least not sharing his blood with the younger Hawke.
"If I'm not earning a wage for it, I think I'll carry on." He brushed the heavy arm away, peaking a brow in suspicion.
"It's a job, lad, of course you're getting paid. Just don't get nasty with me like your sister." The veteran snarled weakly, turning back towards Lowtown.
"What'd she do this time?"
"You mean you haven't heard?"
"Haven't heard what?"
"Monsieur Johann!" The Mother called, equally forceful and gentle.
"What now, you wretched woman?"
"Be sure to return Serah Hawke as soon as you are done with him, he is collecting something for your employer."
"I'll stop by as soon as I'm finished, Mother Erinyes. Don't worry!" Carver waved back, hoping to avoid whatever mess Richter was trying to escape.
---
Alexandra sat in the primary safehouse for Athenril's outfit, sharpening her hand-axe as she reclined a chair against the wall. Across the room, sat by the door, was Athenril's bodyguard Silas.
The elf woman never left her superiors' side, save to guard her from outside a door. She watched Hawke with an equal fascination and ire, chewing on a stalk of elfroot to soothe a recently busted lip.
Athenril stepped out of her office, muttering frustrations to herself for a brief moment before gaining her composure.
"Silas, Hawke, stop flirting. We have work to do." She sighed, interrupting the staredown and instinctively motioning for a gather and follow.
Silas silently chewed on her restorative and Hawke holstered her weapon as they took their positions behind Athenril.
"Stepping out to handle business yourself? That's a rare sight these days." Hawke mused aloud, a smirk practically dripping audibly from her lips.
"This is different, birdie. Go meet Elegant, pick up what she offers and report at the marker near Darktown." Athenril ordered over her shoulder dismissively.
"Yours is my command." Alexandra sung, a wide grin across her deathly pallor.
After the party left the building, the human departed for Elegant's stall with a certain new swing to her signature strut.
"So, another new favorite pet?" Silas sighed knowingly.
"For now." Athenril chirped, leering at the apostate's figure.
---
In a back street of Lowtown, Richter and Carver were stood next to a tame bonfire. At its center was an ornately decorated wooden desk, just beginning to hiss and crack.
"...And you had me carry this thing?" Carver gestured towards the burning furnishing, his free hand balling to a fist which he nearly wanted to thrust into the sanitizing flames.
"At least it's not your desk, boy! I lifted this thing years ago. It was worth tens of sovereigns. Hand carved in Antiva, and lacquered with a Tevinter stain." The veteran kept his gaze fixed on the pyre, his eyes steely and resisting the urge to water up.
"So it was an expensive desk, then? So what? Get a new one."
"It's the principle of it, boy. It was MY desk. They put stains in it that would never come out. Trust me."
"Did I at least carry the side that wasn't my sister's?" Carver sighed in defeat, burying his head in his hands.
"How should I know? If it helps you sleep, you can believe whatever you want." Richter shrugged before crossing his arms, still staring on as the flames slowly consumed his desk.
---
"What was with the homeless escort? What is this place, temple of the rats?" Hawke chuckled as she rejoined her party in the depths of a slightly better looking section of Darktown. A rusted over reinforced door stood before them, marked with the blood-like City of Chains graffiti common in the lower sections of the city.
"Close guess, birdie. This is Father Rust's warren, one of them, anyway. Behave yourself." Athenril replied, pointing out a smaller sigil painted at the foot of the door.
"Wait, as in the beggar messiah? You mean he's real? I thought he was just a ghost story to scare the nobles into not bothering the beggars too much."
"He's an information dealer, Hawke. There's a beggar on every corner and they all report to him." Silas grunted, only now drawing Alex's attention to the familiar crate she held.
"Do you have Elegant's phial?"
"Right here, boss." Hawke drew a bottle of silvery fluid from her satchel and presented it.
"The door, then." Athenril ordered so she could lead the group in.
Like the rest of Darktown, it was oppressively disheveled inside the ancient saferoom. Walls crumbled and the ceiling was caving in one corner.
At the back of the room, on a rotting chair behind a broken table, sat a years-weary old man. Once known as Miser Ives, the Rusty Crow, now he was Father Rust, protector of the lost. He bore silver hair lazily draped over his back save the rough bangs in his face. A dirty cape sat on his shoulders, with brown, matted fur that was once white covering his shoulders. A pair of knives, one odd and almost trowel-like and the other bearing two points, were dug into the table before him. Their ethereal, mirrored shine seemed to warp the hawk-like suspicion of his curious face into a sadistic grin.
"It's a strange world when snakes come begging to the rats… Don't you agree, Athenril?" He spoke, at last breaking the long silence that had lingered in the air. His cheery, ragged voice held a tone of amusement over something unplaceable and threatening.
"Don't play this like the Coterie don't have you sweating, too, Ives. Remember who your friends are." Athenril replied with all of her usual confidence, her crossed arms and sidecocked stance holding more intimidation than most would assume from any elf.
"My friends are the rats and rust. Everybody else is only either useful or… dangerous."
"Then you'd better consider me both, old man."
"Enough of the pleasantries." The old man waved his hand with a dismissive sigh. "What brings you down from on high to my lowly estate?"
"A trade."
"You have nothing I cannot find elsewhere in the city and your threats fall on deaf ears here. You have no bargain to demand of me!" Ives raised his voice only just, his offense rumbling in his chest.
"Silas, a sample."
The bodyguard approached and dropped the crate unceremoniously on the table, producing a vial half the size of her hand and passing it to the self-fashioned shepherd.
Holding it into the desperate light reaching between the gutters, he swished the contents around to see how the viscous ink within seemed to cling and gnaw at its container.
"What is this?"
"A new poison we've found. The Coterie is buying enough to stockpile for research and prolonged use." Silas answered, taking the noxious substance back.
"What does it matter to me?"
"It seems to me that there's only one rat hive tucked away under the city to warrant a box of death like this." Alexandra gestured all around, the implication clear.
"What proof do you have?"
"Silas." Athenril ordered.
"An order to strategically apply it and kill your rats on their corners. Then they'll follow the blood trails home and burn out the nest." The darker elf produced a scroll from the box and handed it over for Ives to read.
"Hawke." Athenril canted her head towards the old man, before returning her attention to him as the human smuggler drew a bottle of silvery liquid and dropped a small amount into a poison vial. "This is a neutralizer that only a friend of ours can produce here in Kirkwall. It can be made into an antidote with their help. And ours by extension."
The toxic tar separated as it was mixed with its anti-toxin, thinning out and becoming lighter in color as it was absorbed.
"What do you want in return?" Ives sighed, leaning forward onto his elbows and casting his face into the shadows as he looked at Athenril from beneath his brow.
"All the intel you can provide to help us push back against the Coterie. And access to your secret passageways." The blonde elf stepped up to the table and Silas moved the box of poison away.
"Do you think this is a war you can win, Athenril? Even with my help?"
"Here's a better question: do you think it's one you can survive if they win?" Athenril dropped her palms to lean on the table, matching the old man's gaze. They stayed locked for a time, fighting a silent battle of wills through their eyes. Silas and Hawke checked their eyes on each other, as if displaced in time, before turning back to the leaders.
"Fine." Father Rust growled at length, leaning back into his ever-creaking chair. "You've twisted my arm enough, snake. Sit and we'll discuss details."
---
Several hours later, atop one path towards Lowtown, two figures stood under the windows of the brothel.
"The Blooming Rose appreciates your patronage, Monsieur Johann, but you will still be required to maintain distance for another week due to the disturbances you caused before, during, and after your removal from the establishment." Mother Erinyes reminded patiently, yet tensely.
"I'll make do." The Ander started to leave, waving over his shoulder.
"I trust I mustn't remind you of the consequences, should you fail to maintain respect again, Monsieur Johann." Erinyes followed him as she started to lose the gentle tone she carried so often.
"Will I make the Maker cry?" Richter turned loosely on his heel, responding more to her amusing anger than the signature sound of her limping left foot clicking behind him.
"No, but I will make you do much more than shed tears." Her damaged hand took stoic grip of his beard as he turned. In an instant he was forced to gulp down his words as a blade pressed between his thighs. "The Coterie will feed what is left to the sharks and Athenril will replace you within the month."
"I understand, Mother. It won't happen again. I swear." Richter laughed nervously, his hands up in surrender as he smiled unconvincingly.
"We shall see, won't we?" The Mother stepped away as quickly as she had closed, and returned to her post.
Richter let out one of the deepest sighs he'd breathed in years, thanking the Maker in his thoughts. He noticed a tightness in his trousers and checked for leering eyes before adjusting his pants and marching back to Lowtown shamelessly.
---
"So how long before the rat-man figures out the poison story was false?" Hawke mused as she pulled her breaches back up to her waist.
"Long enough for us to dig in too deep to be cut out." Athenril replied from her bed, half covered by an expensive blanket. "If Ives doesn't play along, we can stand to lose him. What's most important is that he doesn't help the Coterie."
"Well lets hope he's smart enough to toe the line. I don't fancy the idea of scouring those warrens. Took hours to scrub out the smell just from that visit." Alexandra pulled her shirt back over her torso and started to re-lace it before turning back over her shoulder. "Though that could be your fault for inviting me to join your bath."
"Next time I'll pass on the offer, if you want to complain." Athenril dismissed.
"Oh? Then maybe I can convince you to re-invite me?" Hawke stooped back down to meet the elf's face.
"I'm listening." Athenril whispered, grinning hungrily.