LIGHTNOVELONLINE 109 – A Hornet Steps Into a Hive of Flies Pt. 2
The moment she laid eyes on the structure, with its blacked-out windows, she fully expected to be antagonized or even openly attacked. As she walked through its halls, somewhat to her disappointment, she only got hateful stares from beyond cracked-open doors. Before she could reach her informant’s basement door, a group of three surprisingly bulky, strongly-built fly-men, each proudly and openly displaying their natural vedesian markings, emerged from his door. They stopped the moment they saw her, and the largest of the three, over two meters tall and with spiky, armor-like chitin, stepped forward. Until now she had only received a few random, barked slurs from the locals. This man, who she mentally nicknamed Tsetse after the eponymous giant fly, attacked her with a tirade of insults pertaining to her species, sex, manner of dress, status as an anathemist, and finally, the supposed impending extermination and enslavement of all non-evoy.
It was undoubtedly a withering verbal assault by anyone’s standards, but, having actively participated in communities where such tirades were a part of normal conversation, it washed off of her like water off a turtle’s back. The answer which she gave, masterfully controlling her violent impulses, was a venomous smile, marking the moment when she mentally reached her hand into the pool of distilled vitriol in her head, dipping her recently-gained knowledge of this world and of evoy culture in the vile substance.
“I could fry you into the wall right this second, if I wanted, but I’m feeling mighty peaceful today, so, my feces-feasting friend…”
This was followed by a tirade of entomological and religious slurs as well as absurdly gruesome threats too graphic and hateful to be recorded in writing. Throughout her tirade, Brunhilde burned Thauma and built up a charge within her left arm, until it cast a light over the whole of the hallway. Meanwhile, as she spoke, she spewed smoke with each word, which she purposely imbued with Isotope to give it the unmistakable rancid quality. The sheer vitriol behind her words was such that, by pure accident, it imbued her Thauma with a malicious quality and set her smoke upon the three evoy, eroding their Wards. When she was done with her tirade, she finished: “...now, if you would, stop wasting my time and go kill yourself some other way.”
She was well aware of the fact she had just spent the better part of two minutes doing exactly what she was accusing the speechless, confused Tsetse of doing, but that didn’t matter. Before he could realize what was happening, she had already Astro Dived, power-walked through him, and returned to physicality, banging on her contact’s door. She was betting that he would choose to remove himself from the situation out of a mixture of confusion and intimidation, and, this time, her bet proved correct when the trio shuffled away muttering insults and threats to placate themselves.
“Who is it?!” came a buzzy, flighty voice.
“An urgent yellow-banded delivery from Tajik,” she answered in codespeak.
“...I don’t ‘member orderin’ anything from Tajik.”
“Open up before I put a reaper through your keyhole. I just want to ask a question.”
It was a truly stupidly-wide keyhole to go with a stupidly-chunky lock.
“What’d you do to Tajik?!” the voice questioned. Light footsteps. A key plugged the keyhole. Rattling of chains and deadbolts followed.
“I got him zonked out of his gourd on Sabbi Root and showed him a yellow talisman paper. He’s probably nursing a horrifying hangover by now.”
The moment the door even cracked open, Krahe pushed her way past, diving to bypass the fly-man altogether. His home was a hoarder’s one, and his form, startled and panicking, was the most fly-like she had seen yet. There were the obvious patterns that marked him a vedesian, though they were so slight and faint that it took active effort to notice them. He ambled about on four spindly legs while ceaselessly, neurotically rubbing his forelimbs together as a proboscis darted in and out of his lamprey-like mouth. A harness was strapped to his body, a backpack power source where his wings may have once been and a pair of mechanical arms to the sides, gesturing as he spoke.
“Ey, the fuck’s that supposed to be, eh?! You can’t just break into my home like that! Who the fuck are you, anyway? An… Anathemist? Oh. Oh no. Oh nonono. I ain’t got no fuckin’ Class 3 Painkillers, y’understand?”
“Do I look like I need painkillers? C’mon. I’m looking for the Talisman Mistress,” Krahe said, conjuring the yellow talisman paper into the palm of her hand. She waved it back and forth in front of the evoy’s nearly-expressionless face. He licked it.
Then, his compound eyes flashed red and Krahe felt an appraisal attempt smack impotently into her deathsmoke shroud.
“Y’involved with an Outer God by any chance?” he asked with an unsettling calm.
“Don’t try to turn shit around on me, Nozar. Tajik sent me to you because he thinks you might know where to find the Talisman Mistress.”
“I know. She’s moved in recently, just a week after that big fuckoff archon flash sent everyone packin’ from Jas’raba. Pushed out half my clientele from the market with her product. Half of ‘em want her dead and the other half wanna lick her feet for a peek at her source charts. Question is, which one’re you?”
She didn’t like this. The fly-man had suddenly become utterly, rapturously calm, as if some realization made him think he had nothing to fear from her, or perhaps a chip to play that would secure his safety.
“The kind with a vendetta against one of her customers.”
A tilt of his head. Another cycle of forelimb-rubbing.
“So you’re lookin’ for her ‘cause you want information. Funny thing, she’s been lookin’ for someone, too. Won’t say who, or give any criteria… But hell, maybe bein’ able to find her is qualifier enough. I can tell you what I know, for a price.”
“Name it.”
A finger-wag gesture from his right mech-arm. The insecticidal urge within Krahe grew.
“No. You know how these deals work. You make the offer or there’s no deal.”
“How about I spray your brains over that pile of trash? I’ve got three more leads to get to, one of them has to be less obnoxious than you.”
The fly-man rubbed his forelimbs, absently staring at her with his compound eyes.
“Y’willin’ to make that bet?”
