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"Well, shit," whispered Emma. "I thought tall, dark and ugly would be short in the brains-to-mouth department, but looks like you're screwed there too."

"Thanks. Real helpful."

Calimus peered across the puddle to where his opponent sat placidly. For now.

"Can't we settle this with a game of cards or something instead?"

The green eyes had not blinked for a while.

"That would prove nothing beyond who was the better, or luckier player. Not who was more deserving of their goals."

"I don't rely on luck."

A nod. "That would be a good policy to adhere to."

He was aware of the crowd pressing in, and the various answers they sought in the wake of the attack—the familiar yet foreign scents of demons and desperation, heightened by claustrophobia. The hellish heat of the coal engines mixed with the ever present brimstone to draw forth ancient and terrible memories.

I won't be a servant anymore. Never again.

He balled his fists around his muddied jacket.

Emma whispered again by his ear. "You know, this might be a good time to consider the contract I suggested. We could both use the added power in case he decides that he won't play nice after all."

Calimus swallowed hard.

The Hag, no, Lady Sereah would have known what to do. But would it have been what was best for me? Do I know what's best for me right now?

"Serv- Calimus?" prodded Emma. There was a tinge of desperation in her voice now.

Calimus stood up, feeling all eyes upon him as he made a decision. Mud and sweat and grime made an armour of his own clothes, and the hunger and numbness that gnawed his innards served for courage.

"My name is Calimus Von Boreas, and like you folk here, I'm a demon. Unlike y'all, I've been a... familiar for the last 5637 years or so, and I've about half that much more time to go before I'm even considered to be my 'own' man, demon, whatever. Two days ago, my Master croaked."

Emma squawked on his shoulder, flapping wildly.

"What are you doing? If there's any Collectors around here-"

"I will ask them to wait awhile."

There was an audible creaking and scratching of metal as the dragonborn rose. "Please go on."

Calimus held his breath, half-expecting an outcry from the crowd, or the beating of purposeful wings, or the clopping of hooves.

Nothing. Yet. Only bated breaths.

"She was old, it was her time and all that, mostly. But the Familiar Agency won't care about that—all they'll care about is sticking me with the next Master and the next after, and... I don't want that, I won't have that! Not after so long and so far."

The numbness peeled back slowly, and something else emerged. It stung his tongue with each word and left increasing bitterness in his chest.

Cabarros the Caustic lifted his chin, eyes glinting in the dark.

"Is that not how familiar penance works? You're doing time for past crimes."

"For what crimes?" He laughed, blinking back moisture. "I don't even know who I was or what I did to deserve this—what's the whole point of punishing me now?"

"Is that so? You consider yourself to be unfairly mistreated by your Masters?"

"YES! I mean, yeah, they were- they did- It's-" He caught his wrists to stop the trembling. "Have you ever had anyone pet you on the head and go 'Good Boy'? It's like that. Good Boy. Good Servant. I have a name, you know? The only Master that made a point of remembering that is- is- g- g-"

The heat roiled about him, and the escaping words left a lightness in his head that matched the emptiness of his stomach. He was vaguely aware of gravity exerting itself in strange ways as the crowd gasped. Abruptly, there was cold metal pressed against him—an armoured shoulder supporting his weight.

"Keep going, Calimus. You are doing well," said a raspy voice somewhere over the shoulder.

"Stop!" shrieked another, nearby. "Don't bring up the na-"

"Her name was Lady Sereah, and I don't know if I'll ever meet another Master like her. I'm not going back to being a 'Good Servant' ever again. That's why I'm here—to get through this trash angel marathon so I can finally get my own damned destiny."

His knees wobbled. His throat was more raw than it had ever been.

"I don't want anyone's destiny or a happily-ever-after. I just want a destiny. Is that too much to ask?"

He stumbled back from the bulwark of steel and mud and scales, momentarily startled by the size discrepency of his opponent at this proximity, and the apparent effort of the dragonborn in keeping his dripping snout and caustic breath pointed elsewhere.

Time seemed to freeze as the Star stared back at him from the middle of the acid-pitted breastplate, within arm's reach. It was a hideous seven-limbed thing, like a starfish but with reddish veins and a central blinking eye. But it was a Star.

Luck smiled. Calimus scowled.

"-as far from handsome as you have a chance of beating him straight up"

"-getting close and chummy"

Emma's words echoed within his skull, and resonated with his own.

This is the only chance you're gonna get.

His vision shifted into focus as his mind scrambled to process the situation. Emma was... somewhere, and his opponent's sights were trained elsewhere. The crowd of demons continued watching intently, sympathetically even, and it clicked in his head that these were the ones in ragged clothes and all their possessions in both arms, even before the blazing salvo. They paid little attention to the trains because there wouldn't be a carriage to whisk them back to a nice home and a hot meal and family.

Hobos. Genuine trash demons in a place of trash angels. And they think I'm one of them.

He did not risk examining the condition of his own apparel.

No. This isn't how Calimus Von Boreas ends. I didn't quit the Familiar business just to become some fugitive hobo with nothing to his name or future.

Calimus took a chance. And as luck would have it, so did Emma.

A loud yowl tore from his throat as her grasping talons found the back of his hand instead.

"You moron! Use your eyes!"

"Why don't you use your brain, you imbecile! I said I would-"

"Excuse me."

Gleaming green eyes fixed both of them with severe disapproval, and vile breath accompanied a long sigh.

"We made it as far as number twenty-three for being civil. I was beginning to hope that I was wrong in my assessment."

Calimus's face froze in a rictus, his legs tensing as the crowd began to stir.

"Look, I know this wasn't a great start either, but if we can try introductions again..."

A guttural growl rose from the belly of the beast, and Calimus took off right after Emma.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

There was a time when Cabarros might have attempted—and even managed—a leaping tackle, if only to try and beat Orkhambul to it and prevent potentially over-enthusiastic restraining action. Doryani would have rigged the exits in the event that they both missed the mark.

In the present, alone, the dragonborn pursued in stiff strides, barely keeping the tweed cap and bag in his sights as his quarry bobbed and weaved between the crowd on the platform. The same crowd held fast at his clanking advance, either unwilling to break their queue for the trains home, or addressing him in the now incomprehensible Third Tongue as those that recognized him from before clamoured for his attention.

Gritting his teeth, he resorted to plain speech, straining his throat as more whistle blasts echoed through the tunnels.

"Can any of you understand me? I need to pass right now!"

His grimace tightened as those in front began to supplicate themselves once again, taking cue from his demeanour instead of his words.

The problem with 'fear', of course, is that it detracts from actual communication in favour of expedience.

"Get OUT of my way! Fate itself hangs in balance!"

He snarled, scattering sizzling droplets over the ground. The nearest demon shrieked and thrust a bundle of what seemed to be currency at him. Others followed suit with offerings of wealth, food and—in one bewildering case—an infant. Precious seconds passed as he firmly returned the infant to its pram, and caught a final glimpse of the tweed cap vanishing into the distance.

And so, the lost shepard looks within once again.

Cabarros closed his eyes and gripped his chest, reaching within to release the fourth seal.

And for a moment, the world forgot about him.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Okay, so much for that plan. What now, genius?"

Calimus swatted at Emma and missed. His breathing was laboured from more than just the second bout of panic and frenzied activity, as he risked a backward glance.

"It was your plan, Emma. I had the perfect opening and you bungled it up!"

The raven swooped up and around him.

"Whatever. The sob story isn't going to work again, so why don't you do something useful for once and get some alchemy going? You still want the Star, right?"

He hissed back, trying to shake his head free of the latest narration that gnawed at the back of his mind. "Y-yeah, of course. I'm still in this. All I have to do is pick a less dangerous opponent, and if you can put those wings of yours-"

He drew to an unexpected halt, as another round of train doors closed in unison. "Wait, how did you know I could do alchemy? You'd have to be watching me before-"

"NOT the time, Calimus. You don't know if Trashbreath will be the type to give up on chasing, or if he's the only other contestant for miles, so the important thing to do right now is to be ready for a nasty fight."

"And what can you do? Do you have any spare magic left from familiar days?"

Emma made a very un-ravenlike gesture.

"If I did, don't you think I'd have used it?"

"Figures." He slipped his way through the crowd to the end of the platform and rummaged through his bag. He picked two flasks containing a liquid of a reddish sheen, and hesitated, reaching for a pair of orange-yellow vials instead. When he hesitated again, the raven landed on his shoulder and squawked in annoyance.

"Seriously? You forgot the labels or something? You want me to tell Trashbreath to rent a room while you get your stuff sorted?"

"I know the labels, Emma. I'm just figuring out how much 'boom' I'm gonna need, since poisons won't cut it for something like him... it..."

"How about going for 'overkill' instead of 'just nice', considering he'll be right on you if it doesn't work?"

Calimus stopped to glare at her. "Emma, there's a whole buncha people that's gonna be caught in it if I overload the saltpeter or sulpur."

"So?" Emma hopped around to continue watching for the enemy. "They're not going to lift a finger to save you from Trashbreath."

"Have you ever killed anyone, Emma?"

"Well, they had it coming."

"Do those folks getting into the trains 'have it coming'?"

The raven waved both wings dramatically. "Fine, Mr. 'I'd-rather-be-useless-and-have-a-bleeding-heart'. Do it your way. All I wanted was to offer you an alternative contract, but noooo..."

Magic actually sounds really good right about now.

"How does that actually work out anyway? You say you're powerless, so how do I get more?"

Emma plucked at her feathers "The same way that familiars and masters amplify each other, I guess. Just got to get the contract signed and you're good to go. In fact, I have one ready that I'll have to backdate and readjust because someone had to go on a trash angel tour."

A prickling feeling began somewhere along the base of his spine and raised the hairs on his neck.

"That you know who I am and have a contract ready is really really fishy, you know, Emma?"

"What's this about a contract?"

Calimus turned so sharply that his neck protested. Emma took to the air instantly.

Just like that, Trashbreath was standing there, as if over seven feet of rusted metal and black scales and namesake had always belonged in the platform end by the scrap metal heap. His arms were folded, and he made no apparent moves that explained his arrival, or intent.

"On further consideration, Calimus, I am willing to continue negotiations. But there will be no more treachery—is that clear?"

Emma pointed a wing.
"No treachery? Then how do you explain that appearing out of nowhere? I know a lot about magic and that wasn't anything even an expert could pull off."

Trashbreath eyed the raven, lips peeling back in what could have been a grin or a snarl.
"Miss Emma, I was addressing Calimus. Would you mind affording us some space for conversation?"

"Actually," said Calimus, gripping his wrists and putting on a grin, "I'm all for letting her stay if we're gonna talk this over. No hard feelings, right?"
Please don't leave me alone with Trashbreath.

The green eyes washed over them, and even Emma seemed uncharacteristically quiet, as if delegating all responses.

At last, Trashbreath spoke. "If you will explain your real motivation for being in this tournament, I will explain mine, and perhaps we can work out a compromise."

"And if not?" Emma pointed again.

The green eyes flickered. "Then may the most deserving win, and the bystanders none-the-wiser."

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

"Well, shit," whispered Emma. "I thought tall, dark and ugly would be short in the brains-to-mouth department, but looks like you're screwed there too."

"Thanks. Real helpful."

Calimus peered across the puddle to where his opponent sat placidly. For now.

"Can't we settle this with a game of cards or something instead?"

The green eyes had not blinked for a while.

"That would prove nothing beyond who was the better, or luckier player. Not who was more deserving of their goals."

"I don't rely on luck."

A nod. "That would be a good policy to adhere to."

He was aware of the crowd pressing in, and the various answers they sought in the wake of the attack—the familiar yet foreign scents of demons and desperation, heightened by claustrophobia. The hellish heat of the coal engines mixed with the ever present brimstone to draw forth ancient and terrible memories.

I won't be a servant anymore. Never again.

He balled his fists around his muddied jacket.

Emma whispered again by his ear. "You know, this might be a good time to consider the contract I suggested. We could both use the added power in case he decides that he won't play nice after all."

Calimus swallowed hard.

The Hag, no, Lady Sereah would have known what to do. But would it have been what was best for me? Do I know what's best for me right now?

"Serv- Calimus?" prodded Emma. There was a tinge of desperation in her voice now.

Calimus stood up, feeling all eyes upon him as he made a decision. Mud and sweat and grime made an armour of his own clothes, and the hunger and numbness that gnawed his innards served for courage.

"My name is Calimus Von Boreas, and like you folk here, I'm a demon. Unlike y'all, I've been a... familiar for the last 5637 years or so, and I've about half that much more time to go before I'm even considered to be my 'own' man, demon, whatever. Two days ago, my Master croaked."

Emma squawked on his shoulder, flapping wildly.

"What are you doing? If there's any Collectors around here-"

"I will ask them to wait awhile."

There was an audible creaking and scratching of metal as the dragonborn rose. "Please go on."

Calimus held his breath, half-expecting an outcry from the crowd, or the beating of purposeful wings, or the clopping of hooves.

Nothing. Yet. Only bated breaths.

"She was old, it was her time and all that, mostly. But the Familiar Agency won't care about that—all they'll care about is sticking me with the next Master and the next after, and... I don't want that, I won't have that! Not after so long and so far."

The numbness peeled back slowly, and something else emerged. It stung his tongue with each word and left increasing bitterness in his chest.

Cabarros the Caustic lifted his chin, eyes glinting in the dark.

"Is that not how familiar penance works? You're doing time for past crimes."

"For what crimes?" He laughed, blinking back moisture. "I don't even know who I was or what I did to deserve this—what's the whole point of punishing me now?"

"Is that so? You consider yourself to be unfairly mistreated by your Masters?"

"YES! I mean, yeah, they were- they did- It's-" He caught his wrists to stop the trembling. "Have you ever had anyone pet you on the head and go 'Good Boy'? It's like that. Good Boy. Good Servant. I have a name, you know? The only Master that made a point of remembering that is- is- g- g-"

The heat roiled about him, and the escaping words left a lightness in his head that matched the emptiness of his stomach. He was vaguely aware of gravity exerting itself in strange ways as the crowd gasped. Abruptly, there was cold metal pressed against him—an armoured shoulder supporting his weight.

"Keep going, Calimus. You are doing well," said a raspy voice somewhere over the shoulder.

"Stop!" shrieked another, nearby. "Don't bring up the na-"

"Her name was Lady Sereah, and I don't know if I'll ever meet another Master like her. I'm not going back to being a 'Good Servant' ever again. That's why I'm here—to get through this trash angel marathon so I can finally get my own damned destiny."

His knees wobbled. His throat was more raw than it had ever been.

"I don't want anyone's destiny or a happily-ever-after. I just want a destiny. Is that too much to ask?"

He stumbled back from the bulwark of steel and mud and scales, momentarily startled by the size discrepency of his opponent at this proximity, and the apparent effort of the dragonborn in keeping his dripping snout and caustic breath pointed elsewhere.

Time seemed to freeze as the Star stared back at him from the middle of the acid-pitted breastplate, within arm's reach. It was a hideous seven-limbed thing, like a starfish but with reddish veins and a central blinking eye. But it was a Star.

Luck smiled. Calimus scowled.

"-as far from handsome as you have a chance of beating him straight up"

"-getting close and chummy"

Emma's words echoed within his skull, and resonated with his own.

This is the only chance you're gonna get.

His vision shifted into focus as his mind scrambled to process the situation. Emma was... somewhere, and his opponent's sights were trained elsewhere. The crowd of demons continued watching intently, sympathetically even, and it clicked in his head that these were the ones in ragged clothes and all their possessions in both arms, even before the blazing salvo. They paid little attention to the trains because there wouldn't be a carriage to whisk them back to a nice home and a hot meal and family.

Hobos. Genuine trash demons in a place of trash angels. And they think I'm one of them.

He did not risk examining the condition of his own apparel.

No. This isn't how Calimus Von Boreas ends. I didn't quit the Familiar business just to become some fugitive hobo with nothing to his name or future.

Calimus took a chance. And as luck would have it, so did Emma.

A loud yowl tore from his throat as her grasping talons found the back of his hand instead.

"You moron! Use your eyes!"

"Why don't you use your brain, you imbecile! I said I would-"

"Excuse me."

Gleaming green eyes fixed both of them with severe disapproval, and vile breath accompanied a long sigh.

"We made it as far as number twenty-three for being civil. I was beginning to hope that I was wrong in my assessment."

Calimus's face froze in a rictus, his legs tensing as the crowd began to stir.

"Look, I know this wasn't a great start either, but if we can try introductions again..."

A guttural growl rose from the belly of the beast, and Calimus took off right after Emma.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

There was a time when Cabarros might have attempted—and even managed—a leaping tackle, if only to try and beat Orkhambul to it and prevent potentially over-enthusiastic restraining action. Doryani would have rigged the exits in the event that they both missed the mark.

In the present, alone, the dragonborn pursued in stiff strides, barely keeping the tweed cap and bag in his sights as his quarry bobbed and weaved between the crowd on the platform. The same crowd held fast at his clanking advance, either unwilling to break their queue for the trains home, or addressing him in the now incomprehensible Third Tongue as those that recognized him from before clamoured for his attention.

Gritting his teeth, he resorted to plain speech, straining his throat as more whistle blasts echoed through the tunnels.

"Can any of you understand me? I need to pass right now!"

His grimace tightened as those in front began to supplicate themselves once again, taking cue from his demeanour instead of his words.

The problem with 'fear', of course, is that it detracts from actual communication in favour of expedience.

"Get OUT of my way! Fate itself hangs in balance!"

He snarled, scattering sizzling droplets over the ground. The nearest demon shrieked and thrust a bundle of what seemed to be currency at him. Others followed suit with offerings of wealth, food and—in one bewildering case—an infant. Precious seconds passed as he firmly returned the infant to its pram, and caught a final glimpse of the tweed cap vanishing into the distance.

And so, the lost shepard looks within once again.

Cabarros closed his eyes and gripped his chest, reaching within to release the fourth seal.

And for a moment, the world forgot about him.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Okay, so much for that plan. What now, genius?"

Calimus swatted at Emma and missed. His breathing was laboured from more than just the second bout of panic and frenzied activity, as he risked a backward glance.

"It was your plan, Emma. I had the perfect opening and you bungled it up!"

The raven swooped up and around him.

"Whatever. The sob story isn't going to work again, so why don't you do something useful for once and get some alchemy going? You still want the Star, right?"

He hissed back, trying to shake his head free of the latest narration that gnawed at the back of his mind. "Y-yeah, of course. I'm still in this. All I have to do is pick a less dangerous opponent, and if you can put those wings of yours-"

He drew to an unexpected halt, as another round of train doors closed in unison. "Wait, how did you know I could do alchemy? You'd have to be watching me before-"

"NOT the time, Calimus. You don't know if Trashbreath will be the type to give up on chasing, or if he's the only other contestant for miles, so the important thing to do right now is to be ready for a nasty fight."

"And what can you do? Do you have any spare magic left from familiar days?"

Emma made a very un-ravenlike gesture.

"If I did, don't you think I'd have used it?"

"Figures." He slipped his way through the crowd to the end of the platform and rummaged through his bag. He picked two flasks containing a liquid of a reddish sheen, and hesitated, reaching for a pair of orange-yellow vials instead. When he hesitated again, the raven landed on his shoulder and squawked in annoyance.

"Seriously? You forgot the labels or something? You want me to tell Trashbreath to rent a room while you get your stuff sorted?"

"I know the labels, Emma. I'm just figuring out how much 'boom' I'm gonna need, since poisons won't cut it for something like him... it..."

"How about going for 'overkill' instead of 'just nice', considering he'll be right on you if it doesn't work?"

Calimus stopped to glare at her. "Emma, there's a whole buncha people that's gonna be caught in it if I overload the saltpeter or sulpur."

"So?" Emma hopped around to continue watching for the enemy. "They're not going to lift a finger to save you from Trashbreath."

"Have you ever killed anyone, Emma?"

"Well, they had it coming."

"Do those folks getting into the trains 'have it coming'?"

The raven waved both wings dramatically. "Fine, Mr. 'I'd-rather-be-useless-and-have-a-bleeding-heart'. Do it your way. All I wanted was to offer you an alternative contract, but noooo..."

Magic actually sounds really good right about now.

"How does that actually work out anyway? You say you're powerless, so how do I get more?"

Emma plucked at her feathers "The same way that familiars and masters amplify each other, I guess. Just got to get the contract signed and you're good to go. In fact, I have one ready that I'll have to backdate and readjust because someone had to go on a trash angel tour."

A prickling feeling began somewhere along the base of his spine and raised the hairs on his neck.

"That you know who I am and have a contract ready is really really fishy, you know, Emma?"

"What's this about a contract?"

Calimus turned so sharply that his neck protested. Emma took to the air instantly.

Just like that, Trashbreath was standing there, as if over seven feet of rusted metal and black scales and namesake had always belonged in the platform end by the scrap metal heap. His arms were folded, and he made no apparent moves that explained his arrival, or intent.

"On further consideration, Calimus, I am willing to continue negotiations. But there will be no more treachery—is that clear?"

Emma pointed a wing.
"No treachery? Then how do you explain that appearing out of nowhere? I know a lot about magic and that wasn't anything even an expert could pull off."

Trashbreath eyed the raven, lips peeling back in what could have been a grin or a snarl.
"Miss Emma, I was addressing Calimus. Would you mind affording us some space for conversation?"

"Actually," said Calimus, gripping his wrists and putting on a grin, "I'm all for letting her stay if we're gonna talk this over. No hard feelings, right?"
Please don't leave me alone with Trashbreath.

The green eyes washed over them, and even Emma seemed uncharacteristically quiet, as if delegating all responses.

At last, Trashbreath spoke. "If you will explain your real motivation for being in this tournament, I will explain mine, and perhaps we can work out a compromise."

"And if not?" Emma pointed again.

The green eyes flickered. "Then may the most deserving win, and the bystanders none-the-wiser."