Wrong Turn [open]

Father probably wouldn't approve of him wandering around here, and neither would many of the clan princes. Even here, far outside the slice of nature that marked his family's jurisdiction, Evander had to keep his eyes peeled for the Lupine Guard. The closer you were to the school, the more Old Rosebury resembled the business-lined broadways of Aurum or Sofia District, the streets mostly peopled by students and shoppers. But take a few turns into the guts of Rose District, and your surroundings morphed into a twisted labyrinth of streets and alleys not wide enough for a car, and the shopfronts here put bars over their windows.

Deepwell Reformatory dimly towered over everything here, a barren domed mountaintop rising out above the deprecated apartment blocks. He wound his way easily enough through narrow side streets, familiar to him after past expeditions, hood pulled up over his head. There was the smell of rain in the air, a dark bank of clouds rolling overhead. There was something he needed that he could only find here, and something he could only obtain with hard cash, not Rivers Pointe's electronic credits. He kept his head down as he slipped into an unlit gap between two buildings, hands stuffed in his pockets.

He froze stiff in his tracks, mid-step, sneaker scraping against the wet asphalt as the pipes wrenched themselves from the walls. To his credit, Evander maintained an even expression, even as he pushed a sharp breath out through his teeth. "Shit." When you went looking for trouble, you could usually find it here in Rose District. This kind of inconvenience was just his luck. His hand traveled to the hilt of a holstered dagger concealed under his hoodie, not moving an inch out of place as his eyes drifted up the alley walls.

A scarfed figure was ensconced on the upper levels of a fire escape, leering down at him. Evander took a step back, hands still pocketed, fingers curling around the grip of his weapon. Every pocket knife, arrowhead, and bullet crafted in the city had a unique serial code, at least in theory, but the Lupos had retained their ancient rights to create and carry their own. It was the same with his dagger, richly inlaid with silver wave-like designs, and a handsome oak handle with a rounded pommel. The sheath alone was worth its weight in credits, either whole, or broken down for its valuable metals.

Thoughts like those were swirling through his head, along with how much his Vans would sell on the street, or the wad of hard cash folded in his wallet.

Evander took a step back, and then another step back, not taking his eyes away from the immediate threat. He had hoped to be in and out of the slums before anyone noticed he was gone. This wasn't according to plan.

The wood and steel slipped through his fingers, sucked out from under his grip, as well as all the loose change in his pockets, showering down like rain around the figure on the fire escape. It happened almost too quick for Evander to register, but the dagger that was in his palm just a second ago was now in another man's hands. Evander wasn't used to someone throwing a threat straight to his face like that, and it showed. Despite the shock of anger and panic that flared up in him as his only defense literally flew away from him, he let out a sharp snort, flashing his mugger a touch of a grin. Self-confidence he didn't possess. "Is that the way it's going to go?" That was all he could manage to throw back as he took another step backward. "How about I walk out of here, and we call it square?" Daggers were a dime a dozen back in the Greenbelt.

Even as he spoke, he was shifting his feet, pivoting to break and run.

No? What a shame. He was already turning to book it when there was a horrible shudder, and he was twisting at the torso just as his dagger crumpled itself into a lumpy silver ball.

What a waste.

Evander hit the pavement spinning as the boy slapped the metal ball square into his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. The projectile pinged away somewhere down the alley as he writhed back to his hands and knees, gulping for air. With the rush of adrenaline, he felt his senses sharpen, the color draining from his vision, but that did nothing for his bruised sternum. Curses choked in his throat, as Evander fought his gift from welling up from within. He struggled back to his feet, lurching left, then right, then darting forward, baseball sliding between the legs of the 'X' blocking his path.