A grandfather clock, positioned awkwardly in the tavern’s corner, boned and signaled 11:00 a.m.’s arrival. Given the time, a cloud of coffee steam replaced the usual hodgepodge of alcoholic odors. The relaxed tavern lacked any sounds of note, save for the creaking floor boards and the whispers of an innocuous couple seated at the bar.
“I’m not sure what you’re asking, Mr. Septic.”
“It’s simple: go to the town square, watch the suspicious fellow in a black trench coat, and report back to me.”
“But what am I supposed to look out for?”
“Just watch him to see if he steals anything,” he grumbled, taking a casual sip of his coffee.
“I suppose I can do that.” She mimicked him and took a gulp from her glass of milk.
“Great. I’ll see you back here at ten.” We that, he left the tavern.
Not Devon – she stayed seated at the bar for quite some time, staring blankly into her milk and contemplating her own thefts. There was time when she would steal jewels in troves, take trash bags of silver and gold, and ransack paintings by the dozens. As with all thieves, though, she attempted to justify herself.
I only took from the rich.
The poor really needed it anyway.
It’s not like I hurt anyone… badly.
She sighed and rubbed her eyebrows. They really were just excuses in the end.
When noon approached, Devon finished her milk and left the tavern, the guerrilla sunlight striking her still-sensitive eyes as she exited through the door. The air was rather humid, but the streets were lively nonetheless. Consequently, the town center was packed with pedestrians by the time she arrived. The crowd was a mix of overwhelmed locals and excited tourists. Many of them poured into the stores as other came out, typically with hands full of shopping bags. Some flocked around the large fountain adjacent to the stores, tossing an occasional jewel in for an arbitrary wish. Of course, some opportunistic boys just plucked the jewels out for their own wallets. Finding the man she sought after would definitely pose a challenge. After all, no sane man would wear a black trench coat in such heat.
“Hey! You took my wallet!”
“The Hell I did! You took mine!”
Devon, as did everyone else in shouting distance, rubbernecked at the commotion.
“If you don’t give me back my wallet, I’m going to-“
“Going to what!? Beat me!?”
The crowd started to form a circle around the two men, who were apparently in an altercation over their missing wallets. One person, however, seemed to be more interested in getting away from the two men – a person in a black trench coat. Through throngs of people, Devon could see him walking down the opposite end of the street in a hurried manner, a bowl hat on his head. Indiscriminately, she pushed her way through the crowd toward the suspicious character.
She trailed him like a cat behind a mouse, keeping her distance as far as her own eyes would allow. He walked with purpose and didn’t stop once. The man was obviously a local as he navigated the complicated town’s streets like a maze runner. It was a wonder he didn’t parkour.
The man finally came to a stop thirty minutes later in front of a gigantic, brightly-lit building. A giant logo stood atop the double doors and read, “Oak Town Casino!” From the amount of people going in and out, one could estimate it was almost as crowded as the town square. In fact, Devon had lost sight of her target as he seemingly merged with the sea of people. With a sigh, se dashed once more through a crowd of people in search of the suspicious fellow. The faces she passed work one of two – either joyous over winning or dark and depressing over losing. Typically, it was the latter.
The inside of the casino was truly a sight to behold. The floor was draped with royal, red carpet fitted with extra fluff. Fanciful 50’s music rung out of the speakers, juxtaposing the ring of the slot machines and the unending chatter of gambling patrons. The walls were obviously made of steel but covered in gold-colored paint that glistened in the flashing lights of various gambling games. There was movement in every inch of the main lobby. One man at a blackjack table rung up his hands in frustration, while another man at a poker table did so out of excitement (Devon half expected it to be Ean Vanguard). Even the ceiling was filled with movement – clouds of cigar smoke whirled upward like spinning tsunamis before the vents sucked them up. Various neon signs with appropriate doors below them lined the wall:
“The Oak Lounge”
“Girls! Girls! Girls!”
“Pawn R US (Magical Items Accepted)”
Devon twisted her neck when she caught a black mass in her peripheral vision: her target. He was seating himself at one of the many poker tables. She walked in his general direction and hid behind of the large slot machines, squinting for a good look at the man. At the poker table, he produced a series of wallets, snatching the jewels inside from each one before trading them in to the staff for chips.
I guess that’s where the wallets went.
The mage watched for hours as her target gambled at the poker table. For the first five games, he managed to bust each of his opponents and earn himself a nice pile of chips. At first, it seemed to be pure skill; on closer inspection, though, Devon noticed a sliver of white in his sleeves – he was cheating.
When the man finally finished at the poker table, he dragged his filled bag of chips to a window plated with safety glass and traded in for a hefty sum of jewels. Although she couldn’t see his whole face from a distance, Devon could make out a pleased grin on the man’s face as he left the window for one of the casino’s side attractions. Specifically, the door with the “Girls! Girls! Girls!” sign above it.
A thief, a cheat, and a pervert. This guy really lives on the edge.
Devon decided to keep this thread PG-13 by waiting outside of the strip club until the man came out. She hid once again behind one of the numerous slot machines. So, she waited. And waited. And waited. She didn’t think it was a possible for someone to spend two hours inside a strip club, but the man surprised her. At some point, she started playing on one of the slot machines, convinced the man didn’t plan on leaving for a while. With a few jewels slipped into the slit, the machine lit up with a “Beep! Boop!” The bright screen alone entertained Devon, who enjoyed the visual aesthetic for a few moments before slamming down the crank. The screen spun its virtual reels: seven; seven; cherry. She, of course, pouted at the loss but glossed at how close she came to winning. A few more jewels went into the machine’s money slit…
By the time the man left the strip club, Enola had only won a single game – thankfully enough to break even. It was a miracle she’d even noticed the man leaving, given the degree to which her eyes were glued to the slot machine.
Now where’s he going?
Answer: “The Oak Lounge.”
I guess he could use a drink to wash off all that stripper glitter.
Devon followed the man into the bar from a safe distance. It was a classy place, surprisingly. The patrons behaved in neither a drunken nor obnoxious manner. The waiters and bartenders all adorned themselves with red and gold garments. One of the staff members, a young an eager woman who yearned for a typ, offered Devon a seat at one end of the bar, the exact opposite end of her target coincidently.
Watching the man at the bar provided a splendid source of entertainment. For hours on end, the man tried hitting on the closest girl to him, buying her drinks until she left (in which case, he just waited till another took his place). At some point he whispered something to one of the waitresses who sharply replied by throwing a drink in his face; still, he wasn’t discouraged. He continued to converse with the customers and staff, though too quiet for Devon to hear, whilst pouring down copious amounts of alcohol. The staff didn’t seem to mind for the most part – he was a generous tipper, albeit with someone else’s money. Everyone has their limits though: when he started getting loud and belligerent, the man found himself being escorted out of the bar (and casino) by a heavy-set security guard.
Devon followed the pair out of casino and into the back alley. Evidently, the moon had replaced the sun and a cool breeze had replaced the heat whilst they were inside the casino. The guard, dragging the drunkard by the collar of his trench coat, mercilessly tossed the man into a group of tin trash cans. Enola hid behind one of dumpsters as she eavesdropped on their short conversation.
“Do you know I am!? I used to be in Inopia! I could have you killed!”
A lightning bolt went through Devon when she heard that word – Inopia. Her breathing grew rough and rigid as the reality of that one word sunk into her head: Inopa. Inopia. Inopia. She never thought she’d hear it again.
“Yeah, whatever you say, deadbeat.”
“You-!” The man threw up before he could even get through his sentence.
“Ha! Listen, you stay out of the casino and I won’t tear you in half for throwing up on our trashcans. Mkay, deadbeat?”
The man swayed his head back in forth for a moment, as if he were considering what the guard said, but just passed out right there in his own throw up. The guard gave his last chuckle before heading back into the casino.
Inopia…
Inopia – it was the bandit group Devon had ran with years ago. They were supposed to all be in prison, not running loose around Fiore.
He had to have been lying… I mean, maybe it was just a drunken mistake.
Her interest was peaked, and there was no way she was leaving now. She came out from behind the trash can and inspected her unconscious target. When it became clear he was out cold, Devon reached down – avoiding the puke and trash – and plucked the bowl hat from his head.
A-Ali!
It was Ali Yiji, indeed a former member of Inopia. Devon remembered him to be one of the proudest men she’d ever met. Now, he wasn’t much more than a bum who stole wallets and drowned himself in women and booze. She just sat there for ten minutes, glaring at him with a heart-breaking pity. A tear almost rolled down her cheek.
“I’m sorry this happened to you Ali.” She sighed, tossed a jewel on him, and left. She didn’t want to look at him anymore. She didn’t even want to be in the same town as him.
…
The grandfather clock of the tavern went off to signal it was ten in the evening. Whereas an aroma of coffee filled the building in the morning, the breath of drinkers had replaced it for the night. Devon entered through the front door, her usual smile completely wiped off, and took a seat next to her client at the bar.
“Devon! Your back! What’d you find out?” He was clearly tipsy.
“Whoever the man in the trench coat is, he’s not the one stealing your money.”
A disappointed expression swept Mr. Septic’s face. “He’s not?”
“…No.”
"Did he do anything suspicious?"
"Nothing, Mr. Septic."
“Well, thanks for watching him for me anyway. Could’ve sworn it was him…” He shrugged, “Oh well! Here’s your money! Hey, why don’t you stay a while? The night’s still young, and you look like you could use a drink.”
“No thanks…” She took her payment and left, shoulders slump.
“I’m not sure what you’re asking, Mr. Septic.”
“It’s simple: go to the town square, watch the suspicious fellow in a black trench coat, and report back to me.”
“But what am I supposed to look out for?”
“Just watch him to see if he steals anything,” he grumbled, taking a casual sip of his coffee.
“I suppose I can do that.” She mimicked him and took a gulp from her glass of milk.
“Great. I’ll see you back here at ten.” We that, he left the tavern.
Not Devon – she stayed seated at the bar for quite some time, staring blankly into her milk and contemplating her own thefts. There was time when she would steal jewels in troves, take trash bags of silver and gold, and ransack paintings by the dozens. As with all thieves, though, she attempted to justify herself.
I only took from the rich.
The poor really needed it anyway.
It’s not like I hurt anyone… badly.
She sighed and rubbed her eyebrows. They really were just excuses in the end.
When noon approached, Devon finished her milk and left the tavern, the guerrilla sunlight striking her still-sensitive eyes as she exited through the door. The air was rather humid, but the streets were lively nonetheless. Consequently, the town center was packed with pedestrians by the time she arrived. The crowd was a mix of overwhelmed locals and excited tourists. Many of them poured into the stores as other came out, typically with hands full of shopping bags. Some flocked around the large fountain adjacent to the stores, tossing an occasional jewel in for an arbitrary wish. Of course, some opportunistic boys just plucked the jewels out for their own wallets. Finding the man she sought after would definitely pose a challenge. After all, no sane man would wear a black trench coat in such heat.
“Hey! You took my wallet!”
“The Hell I did! You took mine!”
Devon, as did everyone else in shouting distance, rubbernecked at the commotion.
“If you don’t give me back my wallet, I’m going to-“
“Going to what!? Beat me!?”
The crowd started to form a circle around the two men, who were apparently in an altercation over their missing wallets. One person, however, seemed to be more interested in getting away from the two men – a person in a black trench coat. Through throngs of people, Devon could see him walking down the opposite end of the street in a hurried manner, a bowl hat on his head. Indiscriminately, she pushed her way through the crowd toward the suspicious character.
She trailed him like a cat behind a mouse, keeping her distance as far as her own eyes would allow. He walked with purpose and didn’t stop once. The man was obviously a local as he navigated the complicated town’s streets like a maze runner. It was a wonder he didn’t parkour.
The man finally came to a stop thirty minutes later in front of a gigantic, brightly-lit building. A giant logo stood atop the double doors and read, “Oak Town Casino!” From the amount of people going in and out, one could estimate it was almost as crowded as the town square. In fact, Devon had lost sight of her target as he seemingly merged with the sea of people. With a sigh, se dashed once more through a crowd of people in search of the suspicious fellow. The faces she passed work one of two – either joyous over winning or dark and depressing over losing. Typically, it was the latter.
The inside of the casino was truly a sight to behold. The floor was draped with royal, red carpet fitted with extra fluff. Fanciful 50’s music rung out of the speakers, juxtaposing the ring of the slot machines and the unending chatter of gambling patrons. The walls were obviously made of steel but covered in gold-colored paint that glistened in the flashing lights of various gambling games. There was movement in every inch of the main lobby. One man at a blackjack table rung up his hands in frustration, while another man at a poker table did so out of excitement (Devon half expected it to be Ean Vanguard). Even the ceiling was filled with movement – clouds of cigar smoke whirled upward like spinning tsunamis before the vents sucked them up. Various neon signs with appropriate doors below them lined the wall:
“The Oak Lounge”
“Girls! Girls! Girls!”
“Pawn R US (Magical Items Accepted)”
Devon twisted her neck when she caught a black mass in her peripheral vision: her target. He was seating himself at one of the many poker tables. She walked in his general direction and hid behind of the large slot machines, squinting for a good look at the man. At the poker table, he produced a series of wallets, snatching the jewels inside from each one before trading them in to the staff for chips.
I guess that’s where the wallets went.
The mage watched for hours as her target gambled at the poker table. For the first five games, he managed to bust each of his opponents and earn himself a nice pile of chips. At first, it seemed to be pure skill; on closer inspection, though, Devon noticed a sliver of white in his sleeves – he was cheating.
When the man finally finished at the poker table, he dragged his filled bag of chips to a window plated with safety glass and traded in for a hefty sum of jewels. Although she couldn’t see his whole face from a distance, Devon could make out a pleased grin on the man’s face as he left the window for one of the casino’s side attractions. Specifically, the door with the “Girls! Girls! Girls!” sign above it.
A thief, a cheat, and a pervert. This guy really lives on the edge.
Devon decided to keep this thread PG-13 by waiting outside of the strip club until the man came out. She hid once again behind one of the numerous slot machines. So, she waited. And waited. And waited. She didn’t think it was a possible for someone to spend two hours inside a strip club, but the man surprised her. At some point, she started playing on one of the slot machines, convinced the man didn’t plan on leaving for a while. With a few jewels slipped into the slit, the machine lit up with a “Beep! Boop!” The bright screen alone entertained Devon, who enjoyed the visual aesthetic for a few moments before slamming down the crank. The screen spun its virtual reels: seven; seven; cherry. She, of course, pouted at the loss but glossed at how close she came to winning. A few more jewels went into the machine’s money slit…
By the time the man left the strip club, Enola had only won a single game – thankfully enough to break even. It was a miracle she’d even noticed the man leaving, given the degree to which her eyes were glued to the slot machine.
Now where’s he going?
Answer: “The Oak Lounge.”
I guess he could use a drink to wash off all that stripper glitter.
Devon followed the man into the bar from a safe distance. It was a classy place, surprisingly. The patrons behaved in neither a drunken nor obnoxious manner. The waiters and bartenders all adorned themselves with red and gold garments. One of the staff members, a young an eager woman who yearned for a typ, offered Devon a seat at one end of the bar, the exact opposite end of her target coincidently.
Watching the man at the bar provided a splendid source of entertainment. For hours on end, the man tried hitting on the closest girl to him, buying her drinks until she left (in which case, he just waited till another took his place). At some point he whispered something to one of the waitresses who sharply replied by throwing a drink in his face; still, he wasn’t discouraged. He continued to converse with the customers and staff, though too quiet for Devon to hear, whilst pouring down copious amounts of alcohol. The staff didn’t seem to mind for the most part – he was a generous tipper, albeit with someone else’s money. Everyone has their limits though: when he started getting loud and belligerent, the man found himself being escorted out of the bar (and casino) by a heavy-set security guard.
Devon followed the pair out of casino and into the back alley. Evidently, the moon had replaced the sun and a cool breeze had replaced the heat whilst they were inside the casino. The guard, dragging the drunkard by the collar of his trench coat, mercilessly tossed the man into a group of tin trash cans. Enola hid behind one of dumpsters as she eavesdropped on their short conversation.
“Do you know I am!? I used to be in Inopia! I could have you killed!”
A lightning bolt went through Devon when she heard that word – Inopia. Her breathing grew rough and rigid as the reality of that one word sunk into her head: Inopa. Inopia. Inopia. She never thought she’d hear it again.
“Yeah, whatever you say, deadbeat.”
“You-!” The man threw up before he could even get through his sentence.
“Ha! Listen, you stay out of the casino and I won’t tear you in half for throwing up on our trashcans. Mkay, deadbeat?”
The man swayed his head back in forth for a moment, as if he were considering what the guard said, but just passed out right there in his own throw up. The guard gave his last chuckle before heading back into the casino.
Inopia…
Inopia – it was the bandit group Devon had ran with years ago. They were supposed to all be in prison, not running loose around Fiore.
He had to have been lying… I mean, maybe it was just a drunken mistake.
Her interest was peaked, and there was no way she was leaving now. She came out from behind the trash can and inspected her unconscious target. When it became clear he was out cold, Devon reached down – avoiding the puke and trash – and plucked the bowl hat from his head.
A-Ali!
It was Ali Yiji, indeed a former member of Inopia. Devon remembered him to be one of the proudest men she’d ever met. Now, he wasn’t much more than a bum who stole wallets and drowned himself in women and booze. She just sat there for ten minutes, glaring at him with a heart-breaking pity. A tear almost rolled down her cheek.
“I’m sorry this happened to you Ali.” She sighed, tossed a jewel on him, and left. She didn’t want to look at him anymore. She didn’t even want to be in the same town as him.
…
The grandfather clock of the tavern went off to signal it was ten in the evening. Whereas an aroma of coffee filled the building in the morning, the breath of drinkers had replaced it for the night. Devon entered through the front door, her usual smile completely wiped off, and took a seat next to her client at the bar.
“Devon! Your back! What’d you find out?” He was clearly tipsy.
“Whoever the man in the trench coat is, he’s not the one stealing your money.”
A disappointed expression swept Mr. Septic’s face. “He’s not?”
“…No.”
"Did he do anything suspicious?"
"Nothing, Mr. Septic."
“Well, thanks for watching him for me anyway. Could’ve sworn it was him…” He shrugged, “Oh well! Here’s your money! Hey, why don’t you stay a while? The night’s still young, and you look like you could use a drink.”
“No thanks…” She took her payment and left, shoulders slump.
