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"Haven't seen her myself, mind" Gresh shrugs. "But people who did been saying she's all cold and regal, like them nobles usually are. Oh and that she has these really intense, red eyes."
You sigh. Deeply, dejectedly, resignedly.
"Fate is a stroppy bitch," you say.
Gresh looks at you, blinking in surprise.
"The <span class="mu-i">heck</span> did that come from?"
"Just thinking out loud. Don't pay me no mind," you wave your hand dismissively. "So who's this person that noble is looking for?"
"Well, that's the thing: it's supposed to be an elph, so of course people have been looking around for them, since come one, ten thou is ten thou. And so everyone quickly figured out that there aren't actually that many elphs on Barter. And them that are, mostly live up in that commune in 833. Only none of them ever hardly come out and especially now that people have started beating on their doors, they basically went into full lockdown."
"I mean yeah, I'd go into siege mode too if a bunch of Barterites showed up at my door and tried to kidnap my kin."
"Kidnap?" the ysok's eyebrows shoot up again. "Who said anything about kidnapping? The noble just wanted info."
"Because she is a noble, Gresh. And you said it yourself: Barter is trying to impress."
"So ya think that elph's actually in there?"
"I don't fucking know Gresh, it's not like I know everyone who lives in 833 by name."
"You don't? But you're all elphs."
"<span class="mu-i">Extremely</span> racist, Gresh. Besides, you haven't even told me what that elph's name is supposed to be.
"Oh, it was... feck, gimme a moment," Gresh digs through his backpack, finally fishing out a battered PCU, which he then wrangles for a few seconds, tapping on the cracked screen with greasy claws. "Oh, here it is, knew I put it down! It's... Maia Taris."
Well.
Shit.
Okay then.
Literally the last name you expected to hear. Now, or ever.
"Sound familiar?" Gresh scratches his nose. "Elne? Ya went awful quie-" he breaks off suddenly, his ears twitching. "Wait, do you hear that? I think there's something-"
And then you get your third biggest shock of the day - in approximately as many minutes - as you sense the unpleasant, jagged, painfully dissonant whine of restrained mana - and a four-legged, approximately fist-sized drone of some kind rounds the corner of the nearest junction, seemingly heading straight for you.
Fucking magitech. Of all things.
"What the heck?" Gresh exclaims, seeing the thing.
>"Don't just stand there, just fucking shoot it!"
>Covertly send a jolt down the cable it's going to cross and fry the evil little thing [1 Wyrd]
>Grab Gresh and run
>Just... fucking ignore it. And maybe it will ignore you. Who even said it's here for you?
>write-in