Basiato watched the smoke trail lazily up from his pipe. When he was younger, he had played a game with his mother. Staring up at the clouds, they would pick out shapes and forms, coloring in the gaps with their imaginations. He did not frequently spend time staring at the clouds now that he was older... but he did spend a remarkable amount of time in seedy hotels with prostitutes.<br/><br/>A rorschach of stains invariably was spread across the canvas of the ceiling, its origins blessedly unknown. Squirrel would spend a few minutes covered in a sheen of sweat, picking out shapes and forms. It felt like home for a time...<br/><br/>One time he had called a whore, "Mom", which was unfortunate, given that fetish play of that nature was an extra charge. Nudging the brunette who was trailing her nails against his chest, he murmured curiously, "Do you think that looks like a rabbit?"<br/><br/>"What?"<br/><br/>"Right there. See the two ears?" He traced them in the air, smoke trailing between his fingers as he emptied his pipe over the edge of the bed.<br/><br/>"Uhmmm, looks a bit like a duck to me."<br/><br/>"What? Ducks don't have ears!"<br/><br/>"That's the bill. See it's open and quacking."<br/><br/>"Fuck all, you're open and quacking! That's a rabbit, that is!"<br/><br/>There was a moment of silence as the whore gave the stain a second long look. "Is this some kind of fetish, because that's extra."<br/><br/>"Absolutely not! Just cuddle talk."<br/><br/>"That's extra too."<br/><br/>"... is it?" Basiato sighed out a plume of acrid purple smoke, the pleasant tingle of the black root seeping into his lungs with a slow burn, "If I'm paying for this, then it's a rabbit."<br/><br/>He had visited this particular whore three times before, and yet her name consistently escaped him. It hardly mattered to her. She was thick skinned as a professional could only be, and she knew he at least tipped well. With a pensive look on her face, she nodded slowly, "Okay. I guess I can see a rabbit."<br/><br/>"You are so worth every penny."<br/><br/>"Am I going to see you again this month?"<br/><br/>"Probably not. I've got one parcel to deliver at five, and I'm off for a bit of holiday. Out of touch for a stretch..."<br/><br/>"Well it's twenty minutes till, Bass. You should get going."<br/><br/>"Nice try, kiddo. I paid for another five minutes."<br/><br/>"Four minutes actually."<br/><br/>"Enough time I should think."<br/><br/>"More than enough for you." He had a name that was kicked around amongst messengers. The man who could out run death. He also had a name amongst whores. The fastest man alive. At a glance one might think the two names were related to his legendary fleetness of foot and agility.<br/><br/>Only one actually refered to the speed of his feet.<br/><br/>"You have better not be charging me extra for abuse. It's not one of my fetishes. Hop up and grab your heels, please."<br/><br/><br/>++++++ Fifteen Minutes Later +++++++<br/><br/>Basiato carried his dual cases, the parcels and weaponry in his "Work case" so heavy, he would have listed to the right if not for the compensation of his "Leisure case". It too was suspicious, but unlike the dangerous and sharp bulges of his work case, it simply stank of black roots and wine.<br/><br/>There was a steady chirp from the bronze sphere on his shoulder, a Nielson Limited Edition Clockwork, "Honorable Operator, I am not overly inclined to this course of action." Nielsen Thirty-two's "voice" was a steady whine out of the brass slit that passed for his mouth.<br/><br/>Measuring a full five inches tall and a half inch less across, the clockwork man was almost spherical, his polished chassis housing intricate gear work. It made him look pudgy, despite the fact he was incapable of eating.<br/><br/>The single sensor atop his forehead swiveled with a ticktock sound as his slender metal limbs waved spastically at his owner, "Perhaps it would better if we were to simply beg for food. Or become bakers. Or hitchhike through the wasteland. Or make a pact with the devil. In fact, any plan other than this plan would be considered preferable by this humble servant of your goals. Miss Vira is readily classifiable as mentally divergent."<br/><br/>"An airship at our disposal would be invaluable. This is a symbiotic business arrangement."<br/><br/>"Forgive my impertinence, but perhaps you are less concerned with the business gains and more intent upon the company and genitalia of a certain dangerous young lady."<br/><br/>"Your impertinence is forgiven."<br/><br/>"Honorable Operator has failed to answer. Silence is often accepted as acquiescence."<br/><br/>"Then you should start acquiescing right now or I might lose your wind up key."<br/><br/>"... Acknowledged. Acquiescing most vigorously."<br/><br/>The clockwork shut up with an audible CLICK as its mouth plate slid shut. Basiato set down his cases at the door of the airship dock, cautiously eyeing the massive thunder lizard carcass. It seemed he was wise to pack liquor, as he would not be dining sober, "Basiato Wittner reporting for active duty, Captain." He didn't care for the nickname Squirrel, but once Vira had something in mind, it was best to go with it.<br/><br/>Keeping his eyes firmly below her neckline, he smiled to Clarice, "Hello again. Good catch today, huh? I don't know how you'll fit it in the cold storage box! A bit of squeezing I suspect."<br/><br/>