conversations: human
conversations:  The room was smokey, lit only by the guttering fire in the hearth, coals burning almost as bright as the eyes of the man behind the desk.
  They say Gabriel Dalmoro was a devil, with filed teeth and horns.
  Those who knew him knew that even if he wasn't, he was as cruel as one of lucifers archfiends.
  He had risen to the top by way of a road paved with the broken bodies of the little people, as he called them.
  Gabriel Dalmoro had no time for the little people. He was living big, in charge. One of the windy cities kings.
  He did not mingle with the plebeians.
  So that's why he had his enforcers.
  People like Abelle.
  
   You've been with me for how long? 
  He asked, the smoke from his cigarette streaming from his mouth in a cloud of sickly sweet vapor.
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Abelle smiled. She was nervous as hell; the man before her was cruel, was powerful, and had probably wrecked more lives than she'd met people. But fear was weakness and you didn't show weakness in The Family, thus the smile.
  
  The question was a rhetorical one, of course. It didn't really matter how long she'd been with the family, and if it did matter Gabriel already knew.
  
   That depends  she retorted, fluidly.  What year is it? It can be so easy to lose track. 
conversations: Ezeze:
conversations: human
conversations:  A slow smile spreads across Dalmoros face.
   Good answer... You always were a bright one, weren't you, Abelle. Now, since you're so bright, why don't you tell me what the penalty is for quitters. You could do that, couldn't you? 
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Mentally Abelle thought back over every conversation she'd had with anyone even remotely connected to the Family over the last few months. She hadn't given the impression that she wanted out, had she? No? Alright, well hopefully Dalmoros wasn't talking about  her  then. Her best bet was to give him the answer he wanted.
  
   Quitters? I don't know what you mean, Boss. We're family, and you can't quit a family.  She pauses there a moment, pretending that the next thought had only just occurred to her. In fact, the next sentence was very carefully composed to say exactly what he wanted to hear.  Unless you're dead, or something. So I guess everyone who quits the Family is dead. 
conversations: Ezeze:
conversations: human
conversations:  Dalmoro chuckles at the unease of your face.
   Don't worry, Abelle. I won't kill you.
  You're too  loyal  for that.
  Now, can you answer another question for me?
   
  He tilts his head.
   Why do quitters need to be dead? 
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Alright, he wasn't going to kill her. That was a relief, but not much of one. There are worse things you can do to someone than kill them, and it's not like it wouldn't be easy for him to change his mind...
   
  Because you don't turn your back on family, and because you  definitely  don't go blabbing their secrets everywhere. 
conversations: Ezeze:
conversations: human
conversations:  Was that a  forked  tongue that snaked out of Dalmoros grinning mouth?
   Exactly. Now how do quitters die, and who kills them? 
  He took a draft of his cigarette, the ember on the end glowing as hot as his almond eyes.
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Abelle shifts in her seat.  Frankly Boss, given your line of questioning, and given that you don't intend to kill me - you still don't intend to kill me, right? - Well given all that I can only assume that in this case the 'who' is going to be me. Now, if I am correct in my assumption, then the 'how' is - with all due respect - going to be 'however the hell I want.'
  
  Finding and killing a guy who doesn't want to be found and  definitely  doesn't want to be killed is hard enough without worrying that I'm going to be graded on penmanship. 
conversations: Ezeze:
conversations: human
conversations:  The bosses face twists angrily.
   Who the hell do you think you are, Abelle?!
  You're  little people ,that's all, and the little people don't make decisions!
  I do! Remember that.
   
  Was that just a trick of the light, or did he actually spit fire? You can't quite tell...
  
   
  Now, I say you'll kill the quitter, and I say how you'll do it.
  You'll take some torpedoes along with you.
  Hired guys, people untraceable back to us. And you'll be paying them yourself, courtesy of that last comment.
  And lastly... 
  He settles back into his seat, takes another drag of the cigarette.
   Hold out your hand... 
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Well, sh**. Abelle had thought her point was valid. A dead guy is a dead guy, right? But no, apparently not. This was going to end poorly, now - poorly for her in the short run, and poorly for Dalmoro in the long run. No one who calls someone 'loyal' and means it as an insult was going to stay in power long, even if Abelle had to see to it herself.
  
  Before she could do that, though, she had to take her lumps here and now. She proffered her hand to Dalmoro, like he was expecting, and choked down on her vocal cords in preparation for this to  hurt .
conversations: Ezeze:
conversations: human
conversations:  Dalmoro's cigarette glowed like a tiny piece of hell.
   You'll be working with a time limit,  he said, and crushed the end of the cigarette into your palm.
  For a moment, you don't feel anything. Then, it's like someone lit you on fire, then took that pain and concentrated it into that tiny dot on your hand.
  You can't make sense of anything except the heat and the pain, and  oh god the pain  and the burning and... Dalmoros eyes, silently challenging you.
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Yup. I was right. This hurts   thinks Abelle. She can't say it - if she inhales it's going to turn into a scream. So she doesn't, and the most she can do is make pitiful half-sobbing half-choking sounds and grind her teeth against one another. There is no room in her head to return Dalmoros's challenge, Abelle is too busy not screaming.
conversations: Ezeze:
conversations: human
conversations:  Dalmoro grinds the cigarette harder into your palm, grinning ferociously, his smile stretching wider then should be possible.
  After a few more agonizing moments, he slumps back down, letting out a shaky sigh, and wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.
  Sliding open a drawer in his desk, he takes out a silver box, dropping the cigarette butt into it, then clamping the lid down and placing the box back in the drawer.
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Abelle nurses her hand in silence, unwilling to be the first to speak.
conversations: Ezeze:
conversations: human
conversations:  Look at your palm,  your boss says. His voice is shaky, haggard.
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Abelle does as she is told. After all, what would rebellion accomplish at this point?
conversations: Ezeze:
conversations: human
conversations:  A single scarlet mark stands out against your skin, a little burned dot, still aching with the recent pain.
   You've got until that turns black to find our quitter,  Dalmoro says.
   Find some hired goons and get the **** out. Don't disappoint me, Abelle. I'm placing a lot of trust in you. 
  He snaps his fingers, and a small man opens the door.
   You can learn the rest from here,  he continues, passing you a sheaf of papers.
   Burn them once you've read them. 
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Abelle stares at her hand for just a second before taking the papers from the assistant and getting the hell out of that office. Her first priority is finding somewhere safe to read them, hoping they explain at least a little something about what has been done to her.
conversations: Ezeze:
conversations: human
conversations:  The short man leads you down the dimly lit hall, past the huge vases the size of you, through the 12 sets of doors carved with scenes of Heaven and the Angels, and into a small low sitting room, about 15 by 10 feet, with several leather armchairs scattered about the slightly worn faux-Turkish carpet.
  "Care for something to drink, miss?" He asks, activating the rune-sealed light.
  Magic slowly floods the whole room with a pleasant dim glow.
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Nothing to drink, thank you, but I'm supposed to burn these when I'm done so - got a fireplace? 
  
  Without waiting for an answer Abelle chooses the most visually impressive chair and sets to reading.
conversations: Ezeze:
conversations: human
conversations:  The small man disappears out of some hidden door, returning in a moment with a small brazier which he places on the arm of the chair.
  "There you are ma'am. I won't disturb you further from your reading."
  The info is a fairly basic hit order. Apparently, a former enforcer tortured and killed a informant, and attempted to flee with the information learned, in an attempt to sell it to the highest bidder.
  Your boss wants the man killed, and brought back for magical questioning. Seems fairly simple. However, if another party obtains the information, you are to liquidate that party as well, and follow the same procedure, bringing the body back for questioning.
  You are to hire up to five assistants, none of which can be traced back to the Family.
conversations: D20ragon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Once she has committed as much of the paper as humanly possible to memory Abelle drops it into the brazer, too disoriented by the little red mark at her hand to wonder overmuch at the small man's exceeding usefulness.
  
  Alright, gotta find the guy first. Well, she knows a guy. Thankfully it's still pretty early yet, his office should probably be open.
  
   ---------- 
  Abelle makes a beeline from Gabriel Dalmoro's offices to those of Nick Dupre, an ex-cop turned PI who she knows has a little talent with magic - which is illegal now.
conversations: Ezeze: