Scream Me a Song

Don't dare to give a care. Instead, just focus on the flair. When it came to this airy province of northern Akami, that was a sort of a motto and way of life. What a superb ideal, but when life cuts to the bone, the rose-tinted glasses have to come off to reveal the truth laid before the naked eye. A woman named Qioka realized that one day in late spring. In the night, there had been a murder. An infamous musician almost unanimously hated for his nonsensical lyrics and wandering melodies had finally earned enough ire to be disposed of, and it was talk of the town, spreading like a rash through the various alehouses and pleasure shops. News and rumors became intermingled, and the facts became drowned in superstition and supposition before long. 

They claimed the killer had soared in on wings of shadow and chaos, silent as the owl, the great hunter of the night. She hadn't. No, in truth, she'd climbed up the drainpipe. They claimed the killer had used her magic to slip undetected through the window. Also untrue; she'd used a wire and a thin stick to trip the lock on Faltikan's humble abode and crawled in through the small opening with ease. They claimed Faltikan had stolen something of value from the killer, and it was revenge as much as reclamation they sought. Certainly false. The whole affair had been far too quick to entertain that notion. She'd been in and out in less than half a handspan of minutes, closing the window behind her as she leaped deftly atop the neighbor's roof and made her getaway with steps light enough to tread on a cloud.

All these truths Qioka knew because she'd been there, at the crime scene, or rather, below it. A moonlit stroll had brought the gorgon woman to the street just in time to see it happen. And she praised the spirits the killer hadn't noticed her, or else she might have suffered the same fate as poor, unfortunate Faltikan.

But what was worse than all that, than knowing and being unable to say, was one truly haunting fact. Qioka knew the killer. 

Or, as she'd soon learn, she *thought* she knew the killer.

The gorgon woman knew the chances were slim that her quarry would remain in town, but slim was always better than none, and thus Qioka figured she'd try her luck. In the fourth bar, The Drunkard's Toadstool, her efforts paid off. Taking a deep breath, Qioka steeled her nerves, bit down her growing excitement, and approached the familiar woman. The killer had turned her back to the entrance, but the night before, a shaft of waxing moonlight had illuminated her face. There was no mistaking the woman.

The unassuming woman who'd entered Silque's bar of choice thought herself sneaky. Last night, she'd witnessed the killing, and now she was here. Perhaps she was a secret admirer of foul Faltikan; her heart twisted and tossed to the wayside, she'd come to the conclusion she needed revenge. Or perhaps there was another reason. It didn't really matter. If she made any attempt at violence, Silque was more than prepared. The renowned assassin didn't turn her head any further than needed to catch a glimpse of the woman's face. Diverting her attention to keen, vulpine ears, Silque listened and heard the telltale board creaks that signaled her approach. Just a few more steps. 

The Toadstool was nearly empty today, with one old sap snoring on a table far in the corner and the barkeep tiredly wiping the same glass he had been for the last quarter-hour. It was sad, really, the state of these seedy spots. But, if the owners spruced them up all nice, they wouldn't make such perfect dens for us shady folk, would they?

Silque's hand reached down with all the casual wandering of someone who wasn't awaiting an attempt on their life, and she stroked the ruby heart carving that served both as a pommel stone and a self-refilling poison sac for the deadly scimitar. 

"Rei." No attack came. In fact, the woman never approached closer than five paces away. She spoke only one word, a name. A name that made Silque's chest grow cold. She tensed as it rang through the air but took another breath and recovered before anyone could notice her state. The gorgon assassin ignored her uninvited guest.

"Rei, answer me. Please." She gave no outward sign that she'd heard the woman's words. 

"Rei, you're not deaf, are you?" Did she actually think asking that question would glean an answer? But Silque heard the distinctive lip pop that meant she'd be speaking again shortly. Finally, she chose to give up the ghost.

"I heard you the first time. There is nobody by that name here, so you'd best go apply your prattle elsewhere."

The woman didn't answer for a long time, and Silque thought she'd won. But, no, of course not. The woman was merely shocked speechless. "Turn around and look at me. Please."

Silque drummed her fingers on the table. "Hmmm, no. I have no business with you, and unless you have business with me, I'd suggest you move on." She swished her tail through the air, the prayer beads woven through it clacking. "You know I didn't even give Faltikan the chance to wake up and know he was going to die. I didn't want him to scream me a song of pursuit. One quick cut, and he was gone, transferred from hazy dreams to the smoggy hell he probably earned. I can take care of you just as quickly. The best part about doing it here is I only have to pay one person into silence."

"I don't care about Faltikan!" the woman cried, raising her voice just a tad, injecting a commanding tone. "And stop speaking to me like that! You know me!" Qioka's tail thumped against a nearby chair, causing the old, dry wood to creak. "Reiminue, don't make me beg."

"The girl you keep speaking of is dead," Silque replied, downing the last of the watered-down wine the bartender here sold for a penny. It was swill, but it did the trick. "If you wish to converse with her, you'd be better off using necromancy."

Qioka ignored the last part. "Deep down, we knew. When your body wasn't found at the shrine, we knew you'd escaped!" Her voice was growing thick with tears. 

"Rei didn't escape," Silque replied icily. "She. Is. Dead."

"Abel still asks after you," Qioka replied quietly, producing the ace up her sleeve. "It's been years, but he still remembers you."

Silque felt as if someone had punched her heart. But she refused to break. "He remembers a ghost."

"Why are you like this, Rei? You're cold, so terribly cold."

Finally, Silque turned to look the other gorgon in the eye. She passed her gaze over-familiar red hair, almost a perfect match for her own, and eyes of meadow green. Her own eyes had once been that same color. Before the change. Before the Maestro. Unshaken, she glared at the torn-to-bits expression on Qioka's face. "Dead people usually are. Now, perhaps introductions are in order—my name's Silque. I'm an assassin. Do you have a mission for me? My rates are the fairest you'll find in this town."

Qioka shuddered, and a single sob warbled from her mouth. "Yes, I do have a mission for you. I want you to deal with the person who killed my sweet baby sister."

Silque smirked and shook her head. "Sorry, that one's off the table. It's somewhat hard to do repeat missions. If you know of a way to kill someone a second time, I'd happily do it." The gorgon assassin chose that moment to depart. Chatter was fun and had its uses, but it was time to move on. Always the horizon held another job. 

Qioka watched the girl she'd known as Reiminue stand and then blinding darkness coalesced around her. At first, the woman wondered if she'd been attacked, but there was no pain, only the sound of coins clinking on the table. When the darkness finally cleared, Silque was gone, and Qioka was left alone again. "Oh, my poor sister. Please don't run," she begged in quiet futility. "We still love you."