With their weapons wrapped in the canvas, Stillwater and Lone head out of the Hall. They decide to come from the north, although it will be the long way around. While they walk, Lone looks up at Stillwater, as he is only head high to her shoulder; a very muscular shoulder with a beautiful, lithe back leading to a taut bottom. For a few too many seconds, Lone stares at the curvature of Stillwater’s arse.

“Can I help you with something, Solo?” Stillwater asks.

Still looking, he realises he is staring. “Um, no, um, just wondering how fast you can run?”

“Run? Why?” Stillwater is amused by his fumbling.

“Well, um, yeah. Just in case this goes sideways, you could, um, run with Pela?”

Arching her eyebrow, Stillwater growls a little. “Do you think I am afraid? A poor damsel that needs saving? My Trinity, no! I am the one that makes strong men tremble and run in fear.”

Just tell her, Lone, he thinks. “Fine, it wasn’t about running,” Why does this need to be so hard, ponders Lone. “I was admiring your bottom.”

Although Stillwater knows this, she is taken back by his honesty. She feels she should react in a shocked way. “You were looking at what?” She sweeps her hand slowly towards Lone’s head.

Lone dodges away from the strike and pleads, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It is just that you are really…”

Not wanting to embarrass him more, Stillwater interrupts. “That’s enough talk. We have a mission, and we’re backing up Pela and Gunnar. Get your head straight, no distractions.”

Lone is blushing now, further down than his collar. “Sure thing, Boss. This way.”

Stillwater and Lone are waiting in the same spot as Pela and Lone were earlier. Lone has forgotten the whole arse thing, but once this is over, Stillwater plans to have a nice little chat with him. Their wrapped weapons lean up against the wall as they wait.

“You know this building?” Lone asks.

Stillwater shrugs. “I think I might have cleared it out in my younger years in the Watch, but I haven’t heard a complaint about it for at least seven years.”

“Strange. People must be being paid off or intimidated,” Lone says, bemused.

Stillwater feels her anger rise at Solo’s apparent comments. “Thank you, Solo, for your fantastic observation.”

Of course, she knew the building was still a hot spot for gang issues, but for the last two years, the Wilted Flower has controlled this part of the impoverished area. My anger is just from the tension, Stillwater thinks to herself. She gives Lone a strained smile.

Lone returns the smile, thinking that he’s done well. “It is alright, I just wanted you to know.”

Stillwater shakes her head and keeps a lookout. He really steps in it every time he opens his mouth. She wishes that some of Kilroy’s eloquence could rub off on Lone, but that is asking a lot.

As they watch, Pela, Gunnar, Caw and Beltram walk through the front door. Lone and Stillwater nod at each other and start scanning the streets. Stillwater notices that Lone’s ever-present smile has disappeared. When he’s on a mission, all his training kicks in and he becomes someone that one day Stillwater could admire until he opens his mouth and says how nice her arse is. He will pay for that comment later, but for now, she must focus on being a backup.

It feels like only moments pass before Beltram flies out of the open door. Stillwater sees the bird as circles overhead. As she turns to Lone, he’s already unwrapping the weapons. For all his faults, he is trained and will always have your back, Stillwater ponders.

“The bird, Joan. There is trouble.” Lone passes the hand and a half sword to Stillwater and unsheathes his own sword. “It is time.”

As they jog over to the building, Beltram performs a fly by and scratches his talons across Lone’s face, then lands on the shoulder of Stillwater and pecks her in the head.

“By Mela’s grace, what was that for, stupid bird?” Lone fumes at Beltram.

The bird now seems to have a green tint to it. “Are you seeing green?” Stillwater exclaims.

“Yes, I am.” Solo is weirded out by the throbbing of the scratches on his cheek and now the green tinge to everything.

Stillwater relaxes her body, loosening up her shoulders and main sword arm for a possible fight. “It must be Gunnar’s magiks. He’s done this sort of thing before.”

Not feeling that he can trust Gunnar, Lone puts his faith in Stillwater instead.

They run over to the door, with Lone at point and Stillwater towering over him as she follows. Lone peers into the gloom. As his eyes adjust, the scene becomes shades of black and white where he can clearly see three people start to walk towards him. Holding up his hand in a fist, he motions two fingers to the right and one to the left. Not looking back, he charges inside to the right. Stillwater sighs as she steps through the door, blinking her eyes to adjust to the gloom.

Lone moves towards two men at the right, and Stillwater towards the single man on the left, but spots two more behind the first. The men look thin and ragged, their faces ruddy but with blue-tinged lips pulled back into a snarl. Lone laughs to himself, observing that most of them look like a stiff breeze could knock them over.

The first one reaches Stillwater. “Throw down your weapons,” she calls out, “or I will use deadly force.” They stagger forward, swinging their blades at her. “As you wish.”

Drawing back, she delivers an overhead chop, hitting the right shoulder and penetrating the chest of her assailant.

Bracing to kick the dead person off her blade, the impaled half-breed strikes out with his sword, catching Stillwater’s breastplate and glancing off.

Stillwater swears. “By Jara’s. Killing blows, Solo.”

With three on him and no shield, Lone steps back and thrusts into the left side of the chest of one.

As he withdraws the weapon, a spurt of blood just misses him.

He then ‘dis-arms’ another by chopping off his forearm and hand, which flop around on the floor. The third cuts him on his shoulder and down his arm, while the bleeding second picks up his limb and uses it as a spiked club.

Lone dodges so the blade doesn’t dig deep. “Thank you, Joan. How are you going?”

“Fine and dandy,” Stillwater says with a grunt.

She kicks away the impaled addict with speed for such a huge sword, then rolls her shoulder to sweep the head of the wounded man.

Another comes in, taking a quick thrust inside Stillwater’s swing and guard. She brings down the hilt of the sword, breaking his head like a soft-boiled egg, ‘yolk’ spilling everywhere.

Stillwater sees that Lone is being driven back by the other two addicts, but Beltram, flying back through, pecks at the eye of the club-wielding hophead.

The distraction gives Lone enough respite to kneecap his enemy and, as the addict falls, thrust his sword into his chest.

Stillwater then moves forward, ramming her blade into the torso of the last user.

Both are covered with blood, Lone’s bleeding from the cut on his arm, and Stillwater at the armhole of her plate.

Stillwater starts for the stairs. “Come on, we can treat ourselves after finding Pela, Gunnar and Ripple.”

“I think the cat will be fine. I’m not so sure about Pela,” Lone calls after her, climbing the steps.