A click of glass placed on glass, and a sigh of contentment. Sir Orim knew he wasn't technically off duty right now, but this was perhaps the greatest use of his time, at this very moment; drinking the finest cup of coffee from the quaintest little cafe in the Town Square in the dashing light of mid afternoon, and meeting with one of his favourite people. Oh, he was a piece of work, no mistake, and the idea of seeing him at all made him only too grateful and proud to be a truly lawful member of society and not some cheap headhunter.

Still, there was something endearing about watching someone so capable and accomplished pinching for the kingdom's table scraps.

He unfolded his legs, and refolded them opposite, as he flipped open the latest copy of the Hylian Times and took another sip. This was interesting. The Obituaries mention more mercenaries in Midoro losing their lives to the untamed wilds and secret garrisons of the Exiles. Tragic, he supposed. Not the best way to die, namelessly and in the suctioned mires south of the mountains. Poor chumps.

From behind his paper, the footfalls of heavy boots and the clattering of metal buckles pervaded loudly and deliberately. The chair opposite him was dragged out and scraped along the marble pavement patio, screeching like fingernails on chalkboard. Seconds later it ended, accented by the heavy sound of that leather coat flap back. Dramatic kid. One last sip, and Sir Orim deliberately clicked it back to its tiny plate, folded his newspaper, and smiled warmly at his guest.

"Nassos," the Hylian Knight acknowledged. "A pleasure as always."

Impatient boy, but of course he couldn't still be surprised by how this all worked. He could tap his finger on the table all he wanted, he'd learn some respect and patience.

"Decaran," the Human man across from him returned. His smile mirrored Orim's, but his eyes blazed with silent promises.

"I'm glad you made the journey in one piece. Would you like some coffee? The ladies here make the most exquisite brew."

"Got anything to eat here, actually? I just got into town, and we haven't had anything... 'North Castle' quality in some time."

Orim raised an eyebrow. "We?"

"Hilarious. I thought I was here because you wanted me to hear about your business, not the other way around?"

Orim sighed and shook his head. "I recommend the Cucco Galette. I understand Humans have perfected the dish." He snapped his fingers, and the waitress eyed him and hurriedly bowed and ducked into the shop.

"The contract."

"Tsk tsk. Such a lack of etiquette. Wasn't there someone who taught you better?"

Oh there it was. The nerve. The vein on the forehead, the clenched face, and the blanket anger. This little brat was too easy. That warranted another sip, Orim figured.

Young Macil Nassos will never learn, he supposed.

"Very well, boy. There's a tavern here in the town square. Not the Ornery, though, no. You are familiar with the Guay's Perch, no doubt?"

"I'm not a member, I won't be getting in. Not to mention it's no secret I work for you"

"You don't work for me, you work for the Kingdom. Take pride in that, my dear sell-sword." Sir Orim flicked a card across the table. "Your membership. You're to find a Goron by the name of Hoanok, he'll get you sorted out, so long as you tell him who you are. And the answer is The Prince is well at the door. But the password changes every hour, so I suppose that will give you time to finish that galette." The waitresses placed the dish at Macil's spot, and disappeared back to the shop as quickly as she came.

Macil folded it and bit off as much as he could chew. Too much, as usual, Orim reflected. He rose, his coffee finished, and scattered a handful of red rupees onto the table. "On the house, friend. And good luck at Guay's Perch. I hear it's a proper cesspool..." he leaned in to his ear, holding his warm smile. "So you'll fit right in." The knight turned and departed for the barracks without another word. It doesn't do for lions to dwell among rats.

--------------

At least he recommends decent food Macil reflected. He was still chewing and holding the last bite of the Cucco egg pie thing as he wandered down the main thoroughfare of the Town Square, crumbs caught in his chin hair.

If Decaram's intel's right, then maybe we can finally put things in motion. He can sit on his high horse and say whatever he wants, but I can't run this operation on greens and blues. Mention her once I'm swimming in rupees and he won't get the chance to be so smug.

He wiped his face and clapped his hands clean. Still chewing, he looked behind him. A man in a blue hood was on his tail. Of course he was being followed, but so soon? Oh well. If it came down to it, chances are Blue over there would have a bigger problem with it than him. Soon another joined him.

It seemed everyone knew the freak was in town.

The farther he went and the more turns he made, the darker the roads, and the less people seemed to be around. Only the growing posse behind him remained. All hooded in blue. A few Zoras, a few Hylians, a Gerudo... They were being about as subtle as he was.

Whatever. This was his stop anyways. The sign depicted a guay looking upright from a branch, the font in a scrawled version of new Hylian. It was off the beaten path, down an indentation of the ground. He descended to the front door. He reached up to knock, but a massive Goron slid an eye hole open first, and glared down at him.

He showed the card. "The Prince is well."

"The blazes he is, runt. Get in." He slammed the eye piece shut and the door's bolts clattered about. Macil looked behind him again. His gathered crew were just standing there in the way of the sun. This time he waved back, smiling. Let them gawk. Whenever they'd make the attempt on his life, they knew well it'd need to be on their terms.

Finally the door opened, and Macil saluted a farewell to the stalking dozen, and descended into the darkness.

The air was heavy with the scent of body odors even at this hour. Part of the tone the barkeep was going for, Macil thought sarcastically. He looked around. No one bothered looking back. A game of 3 chests was being played on a table in a corner, near what looked like a fellow sitting alone, a group of Rito were talking in hushed voices, and in the back sat a Goron sitting casually, and two bodyguards stood on either side. Hoanok. It took a moment for Macil to notice his eyes were white with blindness.

He put a hand on the hilt of his sword and breathed deeply of the Perch. Time to get to work.

The fellow in the corner wasn’t a fellow in the traditional sense. Partially obscured by hood and shadows from poor lighting, their identity wasn’t obvious to the room. Indeed, they didn’t look up as Macil entered the room. They didn’t need to. From the sound the man was making walking down the stairs, it was clear he was carrying more equipment than most on the streets. He was armed, the fellow was certain. But, out of the corner of their eye, once they were sure Macil was no longer looking, they stole a gaze to realize it was not the man they sought and had arranged to meet here with. It was another. Hopefully not there to be an interloper. Vetiver sighed an internal sigh and hoped that this new arrival would be just as closely that the fellow in the obscuring robes was, in fact, a lady, and a bit of crime fighter.

She had listened as the two men playing the game of three chests griped back and forth. The man who was running the game, Tobias, was being accused by the player, Old Jack, of cheating. Tobias claimed that Old Jack could inspect the pieces himself but would discover nothing awry, Tobias even purposefully changing up his method of carrying out the game as often as Old Jack wished. Short of giving Old Jack the answers, Tobias basically allowed Old Jack complete control over how the game was being moderated. But Old Jack still insisted that Tobias was cheating. In fact, Old Jack got so frustrated that his accusations were starting to become less whispered. He started to get up angrily. But Tobias said he owed his dues and needed to pay up. Old Jack said he wasn’t going to pay a cheater. The bartender set down the glass he was drying very loudly, getting Vetiver’s attention, as well as Old Jack’s. The gruff looking barkeep glared at Old Jack and motioned for the man to get out his rupee satchel. Old Jack followed the barkeep’s orders and forked over Tobias’ earnings before storming out angrily, huffing as he went, a few moments later, Macil had entered. What Marcil had thought was two men playing three chests was in fact one man getting his equipment together and looking it over before he prepared for another customer. After all, the pieces were moving about and Tobias was moving with such furiosity it might seem like he was a man planning against another.

Vetiver had been hanging around this parts, meeting contacts before at the Perch, at different parts over the last couple of months. The bartender could be won over with the right favors. Access to very expensive and very rare brews. He would allow her to stay as long as she wished, despite knowing her occupation. He even knew Vetiver was a she, although he hadn’t figured it out the first time she reached out to him, she was in disguise even then. But the two had sort of became friends in her time there. After all, he was getting the better end of their deal.

Tobias usually ran his games out of the tavern, from what Vetiver could tell. And nearly all of his customers accused him of running crooked games. Vetiver had been very observant, as much as she could. And she understood part of the game relied on chance, and that Tobias won far too much to be believable, but she still had no idea how he did it. She didn’t sense any magic at work, and it didn’t matter anyways, because Tobias didn’t seem like he had the formal training required for that level of minute manipulation to affect the pieces in any sizable way. But, none the less, people kept accusing him, and Vetiver was starting to feel it too, mostly from Tobias’ confidence. It’s one of the reasons she got here early. She knew her contact liked to gamble from time to time and she wanted to be able to intervene with an incident, which wouldn’t be able to happen if he got there before her and got into trouble with this evident con man.

But now she had a different fear, the fear of a fight starting out and scaring off her contact from coming down into the Perch. She heard the Macil grab for his sword as his clothes brushed together and the metal shifted slightly in its sheath, in fact she detected the noise before her eyes even caught the motion, as she was doing her best to keep her face and gaze pointed down at her table. Vetiver glanced up past Macil and too the bartender, who saw her subtle motion and gave a slight shake of his head, so subtle of a disagreeing motion that only somebody looking for it would have noticed it. She wasn’t to get involved with what Macil was about to do, at least the barkeep would prefer if she didn’t - for whatever reason. Instead, she glanced between the newcomer and the blind, guarded Goron, and she wondered what was about to happen. One thing for sure, she certainly didn’t plan on missing out on this interaction by looking away.

The Hylian bodyguard to the left leaned in to Hoanok's ear. The Goron's head stiffened, and he stretched his hand over the table, as if grounding himself. The Deku bodyguard on the right, jumping on the table to be sure he had a visual, darted his amber eyes at the approaching mercenary, squinting at him, his senses alert.

Macil descended the steps from the foyer to the tavern proper - three heavy footfalls in his clanking boots. The Deku drew his sword, and leapt to the floor before the oncoming human, jabbing it at the air between them. "You will come no closer, Mister! Another step and it's you in a bag before dinner. Got it?"

He spat on the ground in disgust, shooting a Deku Nut at the floor, denting the hardwood floor. The barkeep groaned. "Griit, get a tin or something, I can't keep fixing this."

"Save it, Naito! This is between us patrons, see?" He gave Macil a stare-down from knee-level, one eye twitching in anticipation, the other wide and waiting.

"Enough!" Hoanok rose to his feet slowly. The Hylian offered him a cane, but he brushed it aside. "Doro, you'd let him in?"

The other Goron scowled behind Macil, sitting in the shadows of the foyer, chewing on a mighty steak off the bone. "Prince is well, innit?" He scoffed, and ripped a chunk off with snarling teeth, offended. "Least for 'nother ten minutes. His majesty better find hisself a potion or some such quick."

Hoanok ignored him, letting his friend grumble to himself. "I know you, boy?"

"Okay, is it hair? I mean really, every condescending big shot seems to think I'm younger than I am."

"It's the attitude," he retorted. "You want something of me and mine, or are you here to make a fool of yourself?"

"Probably a bit of both, actually, but let's not split hairs. Macil Nassos. Fellow puppet of the Order, or are those just rumours?"

The Rito stared longways at the interruption of their meeting, annoyed until this point. Their eyes enlarged, but their bodies remained motionless.

Hoanok leaned forward, his hands shaking worse than earler. He snatched the cane from the Hylian bodyguard. "I think both can be managed, son. Take a seat." He offered the chair before him, staring just past Macil's head, though trying to be intent.

Griit looked back at his boss, then shot his suspicious stare back at the oncoming human. "Surrender your sword, chump! Or Arzo and I'll-"

"Do nothing." The Hylian bodyguard, Arzo, butted in.

Griit stared back, flabbergasted. "You- you- what?! You can't be serious."

Hoanok snapped his fingers. Griit hopped back onto the table, but still muttering confusion. "This is Macil Nassos. A former Hylian Knight. Former paladin in training, actually." His voice lowered. "And former apprentice to a particular weapon master, if I'm not mistaken."

"That's a lot of former's," Griit muttered. "He anybody now?"

"If we're lucky, just a thorn in my side for now. But Griit, if he wanted me dead, I think by now the Perch would be covered in our corpses."

Macil sat himself down, and rested his elbow on the table, and scratched his chin. "That upgrades me to 'son' status then, eh gramps?" Hoanok may have been blind, but he was looking right at him now. Their gazes were locked. "You have a job for me."

"The mission's open to anyone-"

"Save it. You knew I'd come knocking. And you know what my price is."

Hoanok raised his chin.

"Price, sir?" Arzo asked.

Macil answered, not looking up. "The Empire. All of it." He leaned back, and gestured across to the Goron. "Look at yourself, 'Nok. You're blind and you've got two loyalists left. My friends want your sinking ship. You hand it off to my merry band of irregulars, you help me make things right, and you end your reign with your honour intact."

"Sir, you can't be serious!"

Hoanok ignored Griit, and leaned back himself, folding his fingers together, ruby rings interlocking. "If Orim's behind this little meeting, then I'm going to have to play out this little puppet show to the bitter end, aren't I?"

"Yes." Macil's apathy was on his sleeve.

As Hoanok sighed, and prepared to elaborate, a knock came at the door. Doro growled, now even angrier, and chucked the bone aside as he slid the eye piece of the door open. "What?!"

Vetiver did her best to not get distracted by the newcomer, but there was no avoiding what was happening. All the other patrons just seemed to watch as Macil and Griit began to have their little spat, and even after Macil was seated by the Goron - apparently a more influential figure than Vetiver had ever thought to guess - the conversation surrounding two men continued to invoke a sense of gravitas that encapsulated the room. Vetiver did her best to not move a fraction of her body as she listened. She didn’t need to strain herself too hard, she had very keen senses and her ears and nose were almost as dependable as her eyesight. Now it was her ears she was straining to decipher what the Goron and the new arrival were talking about.

Apparently the Goron was some kind of patron who hired out others to carry out his biddings. And despite the fact the job was allegedly open to anyway, Macil apparently believed that the Goron knew that Macil would be the only taker. And the price would be steep. The Goron would have to fork over their empire, whatever that empire was composed of. Vetiver imagined not a traditional empire with national boundaries, but perhaps a collection of locations, contacts, resources, wealth, or any of those four things combined. Perhaps the Perch was part of it. While Vetiver wasn’t aware of any kind of ownership or management outside of Naito, it did seem like even the Goron’s bodyguards weren’t going to be told what to do by the barkeep, implying some sort of affiliation and power dynamic between them. Additionally, the blind Goron at the table had asked the doorman Doro, the other Goron, effectively why he let Macil in.

But most interesting of all the details, Vetiver was under the impression that the Perch was a seedy bar that attracted a variety of individuals, essentially all of them criminals. And yet in strolled Macil claiming to be an agent of the Order and indicated that the blind Goron before him was just the same, some sort of puppet for this Order. That could be why the Rito at least seemed irritated by the ongoing conversation.

Even more disturbing was this Macil Nassos figure, who even the blind one knew could have easily slain his two bodyguards and himself. And the fact that before he was barging into seedy bars and taking back alley jobs - working with his merry band of irregulars, as he put it - was a knight, a paladin in-training, and an apprentice to a legendary weapon’s master. Vetiver wasn’t one a first name basis with all the legendary weapon’s masters of the world, but she did know that they were a pretty uncommon folk. She was so caught up in the conversation between Macil and the Goron she still didn’t know was call Hoanok that she forget she was waiting for somebody. She wasn’t paying attention to the door. And thus, when there was a loud knock at it, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

***

Just a minute or two earlier, a male Sheikah turned a corner to make his way to his favorite locale. He must have been at least forty, showing signs of aging in terms of the wrinkles in his face, but that didn’t stop him from smiling a big, stupid grin and walking with a spring in his step that seemed unnerving coming from somebody that old if the observer wasn’t expecting it. He was still very spry and whoever this man was, he kept his body in near-peak physical condition.
Indeed, he didn’t flinch or panic at all as he strolled right on by the dozen or so men dressed in blue hoods standing outside of the Perch. Instead, he waltzed up the entrance and gave the door a firm rapping. Doro, a Goron he must have seen what felt like a dozen times by now stood behind the door and peered at him through the slot - shouting “What?� in the process.

The man spoke in such a drunkenly loud tone that Vetiver didn’t need her keen ears to him. Even through the thick door and down the stairs, his voice did carry. “Heya, Doro, my guy, my man. Ah, well, let’s uhm- let’s ah- let’s see here. Something about the apples being ripe on the trees? Was that it? Or ah, shucks, no that one was from a while again. The butler’s preparing the feast in the main hall? No, that’s not it ei- ah, I got it. The King is well - oh no, that’s not it either. The princess? The queen? The jack? The joker? No, no, that’s right, it was the prince. The Prince is well!� He flashed Doro a confident grin, “So-ya-thar Doro, I was - was I - (hiccup) - did I get the ansthw- ansthw- anstherware-answar-(hiccup)-answer thingy correct then ‘r what? Just lemme in a’ready you ol’ Doro you, come on, open up then! For you ol’ buddy Kaspar!�