Young Writers Society

“I’m not sure what it is you want from me. You tried to get me riled, and now you’re ‘disappointed’ that it worked.” Pratik followed him, feeling somewhat offended at his words. “Of course I don’t like killing. No one likes to watch a life slip away and know you’re the monster responsible for it. No amount of Loquitur’s money is going to comfort their families and no amount of yours will ease my conscience—“ he shouldn’t have said that. “The only way I’m different is I write whiny poetry about my guilt, when the others keep it to themselves.”

"I have yet to feel remorse for a killing I've personally committed." Gaius reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hallway. "You're still young," he mused. "You won't make it far in your trade is this is how you feel. Are you sure you still want this job, boy?"

“Goddamn you,” Pratik spat, annoyed that Ash was actually getting to him. “I’ve already made it far. ‘Chrenko’ is all but a curse word along the Coast. I’m damn good at what I do, and my feelings are no concern of yours. Just keep your fucking hands off my fucking notebook.”

"How long will that legacy last, I wonder?" Gaius tugged open a door and entered his study. It was a massive room with books lining the walls, and a gigantic desk sat at the very center backed by a wide glass window, whose curtains were currently drawn.
"How long will it be before you can't take the strain of dealing with all those stolen lives? How long before you steal your own?" He limped over to the desk and seated himself in the velvet armchair behind it, which dwarfed his thin frame.

"I don't expect I'll care much about my legacy once I'm dead, and that's the only way my reputation will be called into question." Pratik felt himself getting cold. He'd decided to admit to the guilt since Ash already knew it existed -- and now the bastard was trying to turn it on him. Fine. Fuck him. He threw himself down in the chair opposite the desk, glowering. "And I suppose that once I'm dead, you'll hire another deplorable to take my place, and maybe if you're lucky that one will be more to your liking."

"I didn't ask for you to come here," Gaius pointed out. "You came to me with information. I paid you for it, and I was considering keeping you on long-term as a courtesy. Who knows, perhaps you would be useful for other things down the line. Now, though, you're responding with ill grace. I had hoped your youth wouldn't be an obstacle but it seems you've got some growing up to do." Not to mention Pratik had insulted him several times in the journey up the stairs. "If this is how you treat all your employers, I suggest you leave this profession behind and become a butcher or some other career that won't get you killed if you say the wrong thing to the wrong person."

Pratik clenched his jaw, staring at the corner of Ash's desk instead of looking at him. He had to get his temper under control. He was acting like a petulant child. And he was dangerously close to losing his job. It didn't much matter if Ash did decide to send him away -- he was sure he'd find something else. If not with Loquitur, then back in the East.

Maybe that would be better at this point, anyway.

He'd come up here in hopes of more stable, long-term employment instead of the one-term contracted kills that he usually bounced around with. But Ash was getting to him. And he didn't like it. It wasn't like him to lose his cool or let his emotions get in the way of his work. He just had to deal with them once he was back in private.

"My death will mean nothing to anybody, except for maybe giving a fair number of people the excuse to host a celebration," Pratik said gently when the silence had stretched longer than was comfortable, his voice a bit quieter than he'd meant for it to be.

He forced his body language to reflect how he wanted to portray himself. He unclenched his jaw and his fists. Unfurrowed his brow. Straightened his shoulders and forced the tension out of them. And then he took a deep breath.

"But you're quite right that I'm being a dick right now." Pratik finally looked up to meet his gaze, demeanor calm. "So, I apologize. I've proven myself to be an effective weapon for you. And I'll attempt to be less of an asshole moving forward, if you still want me."

"That depends. Do you think you can handle it?" Gaius leaned forward slightly. Pratik had made an attempt to get himself together, he could see that. It wasn't working very well. He certainly didn't mind letting Pratik go, if it came to it. Anything Pratik had picked up while here, Tomhas already knew more. He could offer his services to him and be turned away in an instant.

"I've been a mercenary for seven years," Pratik replied, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. "And a damn good one at that. Just because I don't enjoy it doesn't mean I can't or won't kill whoever you want to point me at. And the only reason I admitted that to you is because I know that you already know. If you hadn't stolen my notebook, then I'd be the only man alive who knows that secret, and you'd be none the wiser. I'm a good mercenary, the only question is if you want one."

"I did say I was doing this as a courtesy." Gaius knit his fingers together. "I won't object to your employment if you won't kill yourself while you're working for me. I've seen it happen and I'd rather not be inconvenienced like that."

"I've got no intention of that," Pratik answered honestly. Then he smirked a bit and added, "I've still got that door I need to purchase before I die."

Gaius smiled tightly. "So you do. Let's talk business, then. You're a skilled assassin; that much has been proven. You seem to be a good spy and you can gather information sufficiently. What else can you offer me?"

“I’m good with languages. I’ve spent most of my time in the South and the East, but I can obviously get by in the North. I’m quite good at coding and decoding messages, both with ciphers that currently exist and ones that I’ve developed myself. I’ve developed three of my own so far, none of which I’ve used in the North yet, but I suppose I could develop a fourth of that would be more comfortable for you — that of course would take a bit of time to accomplish, but would ensure that you’re the only one that knows the key so it should take Loquitur’s spy masters a fair bit of time to crack it. I also have a broad network of colleagues. I will of course not provide you with the full extent of that, but I can get you any service you need — from petty theft all the way up to assassination, and information from most anyone you want to get it from.”

"That's quite useful," Gaius mused. "Quite useful. Are you good with disguises?" He reached out and took a small metal ball off a wooden pedestal that sat on his desk. It was the eye of an Iron musk ox slaughtered by his brother; they were common livestock here and the eyes weren't worth much, but the weight of it in Gaius's hand always comforted him. It seems Michael had the same idea when he put it here. Gaius mostly used to to smooth out tightness in his damaged hand but now he simply toyed with it.

"I am," Pratik said, inclining his head. "I'm good at changing my accent and my persona so I can into any circumstance I need to... although, I am rather well-known in my circles, so the more dangerous people you have to worry about will know my face. Isya -- Arthur -- whoever he is, for example, will recognize me the instant he lays eyes on me, no matter how good my disguise is... but you apparently hadn't heard my name before I showed up here, so perhaps my luck will hold out here in the North."