Henry was brought within the gates with little fanfare. The captain's shortsword pressed uncomfortably against the small of his back, the point digging into the crevasse between his spine and obliques just enough to be noticeable, but not so forceful as to pierce the leather of the jacket. Behind him, both the heavy drawbridge and the gates rumbled shut, as what appeared to be a few trusted retainers moved forward with purpose to gather assurances of their own.

He'd been a scav with Layla for quite some time, so the process they were carrying out was immediately obvious to him. Before they'd even had a chance to get within a meter from him, his palm was extended upward, ready for them to slice with that same infuriating smirk he'd baked into this character.

The closest guard withdrew a knife from his belt, and made to administer the tried-and-true vampire blood test. Humorously enough, however, Henry's own reactive shield recognized the motion as an attack. Instead of slicing just a bit into flesh like the guard had expected, it instead slid along a silvery, skin-tight surface that felt like he'd been pressing against polished glass. The blade came away empty handed, and the shortsword at his back dug just a hair deeper as suspicion mounted.

"Ah, apologies," Henry hurriedly addressed. "I neglected to mention my defensive artifacts. Not for sale, if you're wondering."

His not-so-subtle sales pitch was ignored entirely. "We can't trust you if we don't know whether or not you're a vamp," the guard growled.

"I wouldn't trust me regardless." He flashed the guard an even wider smile, just not one that looked sincere in the slightest. "Though, if you'd be so kind, I can have this little misunderstanding cleared up shortly."

He made a beckoning gesture towards the knife with his extended hand. Naturally, this was met with apprehension from the other man, but the captain gave him the order to do so in a grunting fashion.

"If he was a vamp, he wouldn't need a plain-ass knife to take us on, and if he's trying to disarm you, he's doing a piss-poor job of it. Let him have the bloody thing, and we can all move on with our lives."

The guard gave a slow nod, hesitantly turning the knife around to extend to Henry hilt-first. He nodded back in appreciation, testing the weight of the blade in his grip before bringing the edge to his other palm.

Not bad balance on it, actually. Was this a premade from before the Witching Hours, or built in one of the forges on their own? Because if it was, this was some pretty high craftsmanship compared to what he used to get issued on scav runs.

He cut. A thin red trickle blossomed in the center of his palm, and he held it up high for everyone to see.

"There ya go, everyone," he proclaimed loudly, directly antagonizing the captain's efforts to keep things as on the down-low as possible. "Nothing to see here."

He wasn't exactly reprimanded for the slight, but at the same time they didn't offer him a bandage for the wound either. The captain just pushed him past the remaining guards, down a hall and through a series of seemingly random twists and turns.

It gave him plenty of time to think about his past and future actions, certainly. The walls of the narrow corridors seemed to press down on him as he slowly dredged up old memories, though not for the reasons the captain might have known or hoped for.

No, he was uncomfortable because of how seamlessly he recognized everything. These corridors were, by design, intended to be as confusing and jagged as the fledgling engineering corps of the Knights had been able to manage, and with practice they'd only gotten better and better. You simply couldn't navigate through here without some sort of memory trick in play to remember which turn to take and when. So, as the captain pushed him along the path, all those little tricks he and Layla had made together way back when came rushing back, like they'd never left.

A turn into a stairwell, up a floor and then down two. The path where they pretended they were at the pool, going off the diving board. At the bottom, there would be a spiral-like set of hallways that extended outwards in a snail-like, circular pattern with rows upon rows of empty rooms. Musical chairs, he'd memorized it as. And as they were headed down to reach it, they passed the courtyard that served as the staging ground shared for expeditions by both Knights and scavengers alike. It reminded him of a football stadium a bit, with teams lining up for their chance at the World Cup. Sometimes, the two of them had been up in the stands. Others, they were on the green, side by side.

Until, after a time, we both started playing alone…

It looked a lot less vibrant than he remembered. The grass was patchy and dying out in most places, not that it had been exactly healthy before.

He did his level best to hide his discomfort from his escort. Was he doing a good enough job of it? Maybe. If anything, he hoped it looked like he was just being prodded in a way that made him grit his teeth ever so slightly. Whether he cared or not, neither of them were saying anything about it.

They entered the spiral, and the captain selected a room seemingly at random. A short walk in, and one of the doors on the right-hand side audibly unlatched with a small flare of lime-green particles. He was hurried inside, and placed into a seat at a table directly facing the captain.

"You know, for someone looking for an under the table deal," he began, adjusting his helmet unconsciously as he sat in the opposing chair, "You sure like for everyone around to know you're here."

"Oh? Are you saying that you didn't like our little presentation?"

"Like is a strong word. Making my job harder would be more accurate."

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"Well, if it's an apology you're looking for, I'll give one to you."

Both of them were well aware of the insincerity in his voice. As well as the fact that he hadn't actually apologized. His silence after those words spoke volumes to his character.

"Moving on," the captain announced. "Let's start with what you're willing to offer. What sorts of artifacts can you give me that would offset the cost of keeping my guards hungry for a few weeks longer."

Henry grinned. "I thought you'd never ask. Now, let's start with the Toolbox…"

< -|- -|- >

It took hours to make any decent progress in the negotiations. He'd checked. Several times, actually. Even got a call from the rest of the group making sure he hadn't been captured or anything. He'd eased their worries for the time being, but the downside of that was that his buying power diminished after that by more than just a hair.

Not that that really mattered when they were stuck in an impasse such as this.

"You ask for an amount we can't give," the captain repeated for what must have been the fiftieth time, enunciating each syllable as he spoke. "That. Is. All. The. Stock. We. Have."

Henry knew for a fact that the man was lying through his teeth. Or, at the very least, was hiding an important nugget of truth from a man who by all metrics had proven to be just another eccentric outsider. Given how obstinately he'd maintained his position, Henry would have been inclined to believe it, too, were it not for one simple fact that he was privy to.

He was the one who gave the locations for the supply drops to land. Even if the Nobles hadn't finished gathering all the scattered crates outside their borders, plenty would have been tapped already, not to mention ones that might have landed within the boundaries of the settlement.

This guy must think I'm stupid by now, with how hard I'm trying to drive this bargain…

He was mindful of overplaying his hand, so the end result was him being just as obstinate on the subject as his opposition was. At the rate things were going, he might actually need to be worried about being captured, if only to get him to shut up.

"I am well aware of the amount you claim you can give," Henry admonished, "And yet, I have a hard time believing that such a high-ranking official as yourself, who is responsible for the lives of dozens, perhaps more soldiers in this parcel of land lacks the bare-bones basics to keep them in line. After all, if the soldiers weren't being fed, they'd riot too, no?"

The captain snorted. "You give me too much credit," he snarked. "Do I manage the comings and goings of that many militia? Sure, I'm your guy. But as for the warehouses and rations? That gets doled out from on high. We send in a request to the Knights for the month, and we get that amount shipped to us in exact. Run out partway through because of some shortfall? Too bad, figure it out."

Henry nodded along. "Then, when was this last, ah, delivery, made to your forces?"

"Just shy of a month ago. Now, if you'd be willing to wait around for a week-"

"Not happening."

A groan of frustration escaped the captain's lips. "...Of course."

Loudly drumming his fingers against the table, he played up the act of being lost in thought. The captain, obviously bothered by the display but not willing to kick him out over it, kept a stiff upper lip while Henry worked his way through the conundrum step by step.

It was a tenuous balance, for sure. The only reason things hadn't fallen through yet was the fact that one of the few things they agreed on was that they both desperately wanted what the other had. The captain was greedy enough to already be looking for ways to upsell Henry's more innocuous junk he'd thrown on the pile, while he himself had been meticulously going over the assorted items they were in dire need of.

There just wasn't a means to execute with the current paradigm. So, he needed to change things a bit.

"Have you ever heard of tax evasion?", Henry blurted out.

The captain spluttered. "What do you take me for, twelve years old? Of course I know what that is! What makes you think I'm crazy enough to try it with the Knights?!"

"So you have thought about trying it on the Knights, then…"

"That's- what are you getting at?!"

He snickered. "Relax, I didn't mean anything by it. Although…"

He steepled his fingers in mock thought, as if he hadn't been obviously steering the conversation this way the whole time.

"Out of curiosity, how often does fresh loot get reported to the Knights? The stuff that the scavs come back with on a daily basis."

"…"

The captain's eyes narrowed, but for the moment it looked like the gears were turning.

"Scavs don't always make it back, you know. Not a very reliable bunch. Worse, at times, they come back empty handed and still expect their rations to be doled out to them. It's a sorry state of affairs."

"Truly," Henry agreed with the hidden message. "Not to mention, I hear that there's a lot of new interest in the immediate area, for some reason. Dregs of what used to be the Gentleman's Club looking for a score, and such. A Knight would only have to expect an uptick in failed expeditions, with trends such as these."

"Truly," the captain agreed back. "But, with greater risks, there is often greater rewards. And if some scavengers instead came back with, say… a few extra minor artifacts, I might be able to overlook the loss of the equipment they head out into the ruins with. Once I pass them along to the right people, I'm sure everyone will agree it is a worthwhile trade-off, no?"

"Undoubtedly."

Henry flicked open his cell phone, punching in a few numbers to prepare to seal the deal.

"Now, where specifically should we expect to meet these lucky explorers in the coming days? I'd imagine they'd have quite the story to tell, if they pulled artifacts out of cursed zones or out of the hands of the GC by themselves."

The blockage cleared, and details were worked out in earnest hushed tones. Language was carefully coached in double meanings, innuendos and roundabout fashions of speaking, as a matter of precaution against… well, something that Henry wasn't exactly clued in on. He just went along with it in hopes of sealing the deal.

Hands were shaken, and calls were made to the appropriate parties for a tentative meetup just outside of the Hackney sphere of influence. He wouldn't say they exactly left liking each other, but what did that matter when they both had everything they might have wanted, as well as potential contacts for repeat business? For them, it was a win-win.

At least, until Henry collided head-first into William on the way back to the gates.

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