The Fall of Velaris: Moridunum

She was a quick little thing. Just not quick enough. Silas had her in his grasp, holding her down with his body and hands. The glint of metal in the drawer of her nightstand was enough to tell him what she had been reaching for before he’d captured her beneath him.

Her nails sinking into the skin of his cheek caused an angry roar to escape him, a wetness dripping down his face. With his grip tightening around her wrists, he stared down at her, a hardened glare in his eyes.

“You have enough of an association with them to receive a sack of stolen money from your brother,” Silas retorted angrily. “The Homeless Royals have taken something from me, and I intend to do the same,” his voice was cold, patience wearing dangerously thin.

Despite how angry and annoyed he had become in such a short amount of time, he found that he believed the words that she told him. If not only because of what he had overheard when he was in their home. Her brother had not been the one to deliver her the money, as though they were not on speaking terms. Nevertheless, he obviously still cared for his dear sister. Enough for it to make an impact when Silas took her hostage.

“I won’t have to kill you if you stop being so fucking difficult,” Silas stared down at her exposed body, imagining just how easy it would have been to kill her at that moment. Vulnerable. So very vulnerable. Glancing toward the gun on her nightstand, took both of her wrists in one hand, knuckles white as they held onto her, grabbing the gun in his free hand.

Pointing the muzzle at her, he slowly rose off the bed, releasing her hands once he was standing. Reaching his hand up, he streaked his blood across his cheek, a sting shooting across his face. “Get up,” he ordered. His finger sat over the trigger and he gestured for her to stand up. Once she was on her feet, “If you claim you have no associations with them, then you’ll get dressed and come with me,” he never let his eyes off her, every movement made a precise one.

“Or I can just send a bullet into your head and leave without you,” he offered, knowing that it wasn’t much of a choice he was giving her. Either way, she was going to be his retribution against the meth-dealing savages of the city.

“What’s it going to be, Liv?”

* * *

The ride back was silent, aside from the roar of his motorcycle as he shot across several streets back in the direction of Sector 1. Most of the streets had been rather empty, city lights blurring past like tracers. He had her blindfolded for the entirety of the travel, all the way up until he was pulling up beside the Serpent’s compound in the middle of the city.

As the metal door creaked open, Silas drove inside, letting it shut tightly behind them. Killing the engine, Silas rose off the bike, grabbing Liv off it next, removing her blindfold.

“Well, well, well,” Enzo smiled as he took the girl in. “What’s this? Midnight snack or something of importance, Sy?”

Kassia rolled her eyes from where she stood at a steel workbench, sharpening her knives. Miles stepped forward, a couple of them shining up an old Chevy Impala. Silas reached into his pocket, tossing his younger brother Jared the brown paper sack of money. Callum’s money. Jared caught it, glancing between the others.

“Looks like Travis has a sister we didn’t know about,” Silas shoved her toward the group just as his father opened the backdoor to the large workspace, a bottle of whiskey in hand, almost empty. As soon as his father's gaze landed on the girl, Silas could see the flicker of interest behind his glazed-over eyes.

“Who’s the piece of ass?” his slurred words echoed through the room as he came to a stumbled stop in front of them.

“Don’t you have a bar to drink?” Silas stared at the man he shared blood with, disgust clear in his eyes. His father shifted his empty gaze to him, brows rising.

“What’d you say boy?” he took a step toward Silas, grip tightening on the bottle. He didn’t respond, simply staring at him. “You’re going to judge my drinking?” he rose the bottle up, shaking it. “Them drugs going to your head? You sorry piece of–”

“Dad,” Jared yelled from behind them, causing their father to spin around, sending the bottle crashing against Jared, and sending him to the ground. Silas had never moved faster than at that moment.

Enzo had moved to grab Liv while everyone else crowded Jared, examining his bleeding head. Silas was on top of their dad, fist slamming into his face, over and over, blood covered his knuckles and Kassia screamed, grabbing Silas’ jacket, urging him that he’d done enough, but the rage had taken over him. Like it always did. He didn’t stop until his dad was unmoving beneath him, but still, his chest rose and fell erratically.

Miles tugged Silas up to his feet where he stood, chest heaving. His eyes turned toward his little brother who was holding his face which was cut by the glass. Kneeling in front of him, he ordered Kassia to grab ice from the main house of the compound.

“I’m fine,” Jared lied.

“Shut up,” Silas glared, knowing he would need stitches. Glancing over his shoulder, he found Enzo standing with the girl. “Put her in one of the empty containment units, I’ll deal with her later,”

Olive could have walked. Fifteen blocks were nothing, she walked fifteen blocks nearly every night. She also could have caught a ride on the public night bus, although the stench of cigarettes and burnt meth always made her sick. She could've paid Silas from her tips for his gas, but that wasn't what she wanted. He was attractive, mysterious, and a distraction. That's what they all were for her, escapes with no attachments. It only took a moment for her to realize what a mistake she had made this time.

The tattoo was barely visible in the dim light of her bedroom. A snake, bitter and menacing, with two heads ready to devour her as they brushed the cut on her lip. Memories flashed across her shocked eyes, visuals full of blood and despair. Her parents lifeless on a restaurant floor, birthday balloons splattered with the blood of everyone she had ever known, a man calling to leave the kids alive as a message of mercy. Serpent D'ivoire then, and now, right here, in the crook of Silas's neck. She could feel his pulse quicken, and she realized too late that she had stiffened under his touch. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, shocked, and pleading.

"Please do not hurt me," Liv whispered as his hands tightened on her bare waist. God, how had she been so stupid? She knew everyone that came to this side of town for business and yet she hadn't questioned this fresh new face. She hadn't stopped to think why someone with his looks would want anything to do with the likes of her. He was a spider and she had willingly been a fly. She had taken the literal embodiment of her enemy into her home and undressed for him. It was shame, she suddenly realized, that brought the tears.

With a jerk, she pulled herself away from him and landed with a thud on the bed. She wasted no time yanking her nightstand open, the lamp on top of it falling to the floor with a crash. Before her fingers could graze the cold metal of a gun, Silas was on top of her. His weight crushed her into the mattress and she yelled out, kicking her legs to throw him off.

"I have no associations with The Homeless Royals!" She pleaded, her hands flying to his face. Her fingers clawed down his cheek and blood stained the underside of her nails. "The Del Vecchio's have been finished for a long time! Whatever it is you think I've done, I haven't! Is it money you're after? Take it! Take all of it just please," She begged now as his hands pinned her wrist down. "Please don't kill. I have no information. I do not speak to any of them. I'm just a fucking bartender!"

Turning her head so she didn't have to look at the monster, a sob shook her ribcage. She could see his face in a nearby mirror as he stared down at her, his features that of a calculated psychopath. There was no kindness or pity in his expression. He's going to strangle me, she thought in both rage and panic, and he's going to enjoy it.

"Fucking worthless snake." Liv gritted out, squeezing her eyes shut. In this position, Liv could feel nearly every inch of Silas's toned body. Her bra, ripped from the scruffle, was now lost somewhere in the blankets and she lay bare and exposed beneath him.

Watching as she poured the whiskey into his glass, he barely gave a blink at the sound of someone getting slammed in the head behind him. His green gaze stayed on the girl from the photograph. It seemed that all he had to do was stop looking and there she was. As if even fate wanted him to find her.

All the while she stared back at him as if she too were examining him the way he was her. Only he was sure that she wasn’t doing it for the same reasons he was. Sure, she was an attractive woman, but at that moment, all he could think about was the anger that ran through his veins. The revenge he wanted, and she was the key to getting all of it.

With quick reflexes, Silas shot his hand out, catching the glass that she had almost sent splashing across the bar counter. Brows rose slightly at her flustered expression and he sent a look back over his shoulder at the chaos that had unfolded, at the people that roamed the bar. All looked as if they hadn’t bathed in weeks unless spilling alcohol on themselves counted.

Silas rested his elbows back on the counter, raising his drink to his lips. “I guess I just didn’t get the memo,” he offered her, lips tugging into a half smile. As she continued to multi-task and spew questions to him, he knew he’d earned her attention. It had taken a lot less than he anticipated. Perks of being a customer in this situation it supposed. “You could call it that,” Technically, it had been business. Just, a bit more personal than she was referring to.

As time passed on, Silas continued to nurse his drinks, fighting his boredom as he counted the hours that ticked by. The two of them spoke casually in the meantime, earning each other's names and ages. Just when he was contemplating coming back when her shift was over, their conversation was interrupted by a customer with an attitude problem.

Turning to take in the man referring to Liv as anything but her name, he finished the drink in his glass, letting the amber liquid soak his taste buds before swallowing. Amusement twinkled in his emerald gaze, part of him prepared to send the man out the door with his own shoe up his ass, but he quickly realized he didn’t need to when the bartender retaliated, anger burning behind her once doe-like eyes. Shortly after came the corkscrew and Silas blew out a whistle, impressed more than anything. She had some edge. Noted.

Gaining enough entertainment for a day, Silas set his money on the counter beneath his glass, rising from his stool to leave as Liv disappeared into the back of the bar. Duty called.

Keys were already in his hand as he reached his motorcycle, leg swinging over it. As the engine roared, he waited. He didn’t have to wait long at all when she appeared. Like a lamb to the slaughter. Eyes focused ahead of him, he made sure not to look like he noticed her when she demanded he give her a ride. Turning to her, he rose an eyebrow. Quite literally like taking candy from an infant. Too easy. If he were a better man, he’d spew some bullshit about not talking to strangers, but the girl just stabbed someone with a corkscrew and he was not a better man.

Shifting his weight, he nodded over his shoulder. “Hop on,” he waited for her to get on before insisting, “Lead the way, princess,”

* * *

Pressing the brakes, Silas brought them to a halt in front of her house. Once she was off the bike and staring at him expectantly, he removed the key from his ignition.

“You weren’t kidding, huh?” Not only did she stab people with corkscrews, but apparently slept with men as a form of payment. Classy indeed. Glancing around the area, he took in the slummy look of it all. He knew with one glance that she might have been the least shameful on the block. He rose off his ride, moving to fall in step with her as she led them up the sidewalk to her doorstep. He watched her now as she unlocked the door. So unaware. A deadly game of cat and mouse.

As her door swung open, he stepped in behind her. Lights flipped on one by one as she moved deeper into the room. He assessed his surroundings, examining if there were any visible weapons, aside from the fact that she’d probably stab him with anything even remotely pointed. During his survey, his eyes stopped abruptly on a brown bag with an undeniable shape to it. Like a stack of money. The way it was concealed spoke volumes and then there were the words he’d overheard back on the Homeless Royals turf. How they delivered something to his sister. To her.

His blood boiled beneath his skin, but he didn’t show a fraction of it to her, instead he let her continue to think he was only there for her offer. At least until she was the most vulnerable. Then the mask could fall.

“Nice place,” he murmured, barely realizing that she had already begun moving toward him like this was just another Wednesday for her. His brows furrowed as she laced her fingers through his own, leading him toward her bedroom.

Once inside, he watched her slowly remove her pants, kicking them aside. Silas’ gaze lingered at her hips, taking in her figure as she toyed with the hem of her shirt. He played his part, moving toward her until he stood before her. One of his hands reached up to capture her face, thumb brushing across her bottom lip. “Pretty little thing,” his voice was low and he could feel her hands moving to tug off his jacket. He moved his arms to help her and the article landed on the floor at their feet, their lips meeting once, then twice, then as her mouth moved down his neck, he felt her entire body stiffen beneath him.

She didn't open the package. At first, it had been tempting. Liv had toyed with it aimlessly the next morning, weighing it between the palms of her hands. Deep down, she knew what it was, but she also knew she didn't want it. She also didn't understand why Travis thought he would win her back into his life by giving her a bunch of dirty money. Liv would have delivered it right back to his ass, but that would have required her to look at him. So instead, it lay on the edge of her living room table, a water stain now claiming one corner.

Deep down, Liv missed her brother, but it wasn't a feeling she allowed herself to bathe in. Some days, it was a gnawing hollow inside of her chest. In other moments, a festering wound that brought her immense anger. Tonight, it was both. Even work, with all its unpredictability, wasn't enough to distract her from her own emotions. Wednesday night was business night, the only day of the week she allowed someone to come home with her. A loud crash caught Olive's attention and she groaned, her gaze drifting to a broken ashtray now laying two feet from the overturned table it belonged on. The two men fighting were regulars, the gambling type that usually ran numbers for an illegal cockfighting rink down the road. "Throw them both out Katrina. It's bad for business." Liv muttered, taking the whiskey from the older woman's hands as she rushed out in an attempt to save another table from flying. Maybe it was just her, but Liv was sure that people were acting more on edge recently. "Straight or with ice?" She asked, not bothering to look up at the guy sitting in front of her. A grimace warped her face as the sound of a broomstick wacking across someone's head echoed loudly throughout the room. Katrina's doing, no doubt. "I'm going with straight. You're going to need it. That way, you forget how awful this place is and you come back again for more drinks." She joked with a smile, glancing up as she slid the glass over. For a fraction of a second, shock spread across her face. There was good-looking, and then there was this. Sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and eyes that seemed to stare straight through her. There was a familiarity in the way he looked back at her, but it was one she could not place. She was gaping at him and the glass went wide, nearly tipping over the edge of the countertop before he caught it. "I'm so sorry." She stammered, instantly reaching forward to dab up some of the liquor that had splashed out. "I'm just not used to seeing people so... clean." She finished, a blush heating her cheeks. "You're not from around here, are you?" Turning to hand someone else a beer, Liv looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes gazing over his leather jacket. "Here on business, I'm assuming?" She questioned, curiosity getting the better of her. Hours passed, small talk flowing easily from Olive as she occasionally filled Silas's glass. He didn't reveal much to her, but she had gathered his name and age. She noted he drank slowly, calculated, a person who knew how to pace themselves. She also knew he was stressed, the tension in his shoulders never easing. "Hey, bitch!" A voice boomed from behind Liv, cutting her off from asking Silas where he was going after this. "You gonna get me a beer or are you going to keep trying to sell your ass to that rich brat!" The man scowled, tossing his empty beer behind the bar with a deafening smash. "I'm talking to ya, ya B-graded whore." He gruffed, a scowl across his face. Jack Lennox; a slumlord that was infamous for sleeping with his tenants. He had tried to fuck Liv a time or two, but even she had better standards than that. "What the fuck did you say to me?" Liv asked, wiping around to stare at the red blotchy face. She moved quickly, grabbing a corkscrew on her way. She was aware of Katrina yelling something behind her and the sound of a bar stool being shoved back. Probably Silas or maybe a friend of Jack's. Anger scorched her veins as she reached the middle age man. "You want a beer, Mr. Lennox?" She gritted out, a grin tugging the corners of her mouth up. Without consideration, she slammed the corkscrew down, piercing the flesh of his pudgy hand. There was a roar of pain and then his other hand flew up and slapped her hard, his fingers wrapping themselves into her hair with brutality. Liv laughed, a hollow sound, allowing herself to be pulled closer. "Call me a whore again," Liv whispered, giving the corkscrew a turn. "And next time, I'll shove this down your fucking cock." She snapped, spitting into Jack's face as she yanked herself away. Blood trickled from her bottom lip as she shoved through the door leading into the kitchen. She yanked the apron from herself and tossed it aimlessly into the hamper. "Liv!" Katrina hissed, following behind her like a wasp ready to sting. "That was uncalled for! Are you okay? Let me see your mouth!" She cried, trying to get her to stop. "OLIVE! Look at me! Where are you going!" She half cried half yelled, suddenly trying to block Liv from exiting through the backdoor. "I'm going home, Katrina." She snapped, her anger refusing to subside this time. It was the package, she knew, that had her on edge. It was the pent-up feelings and recent sleepless nights, but she didn't care. Olive was tired of being constantly belittled and humiliated at her job. The door slammed hard behind her as she left, the back alleyway clear. Katrina called for her once, but soon her voice was drowned out by the sound of an engine purring to life. Liv squinted, following the noise out to the sidewalk, her eyes grazing over the sleek black motorcycle. "Give me a ride," Olive demanded, staring directly into Silas's eyes. How he had known she was going to leave was a mystery she didn't want to solve. Maybe he himself was leaving after witnessing the crazy that lived inside of her. Maybe he didn't want to have someone who stabbed people with alcohol accessories on the back of his bike. The defeat was beginning to bloom in her chest and her cheek throbbed with each heartbeat that passed. "I don't have the money to pay you for gas. But maybe we can work that out." She whispered, wiping the last bit of blood off her chin with the back of her hand. "I live fifteen blocks north of here." She added, tilting her head up to look at him better. "I can make it well worth your while."

Sweat sheened across Silas' chest, each of his hands grabbing hold of a slender girl's hips while he took her from behind. Her moans sang out into the void of his bedroom. Reaching up the curve of her spine, his fingers knotted in the bleach-blonde strands of hair, forcing her head back as he finished for the second time. They had been at it all morning. Most mornings it was the same thing. Over and over again.

Kassia smiled widely back at his naked figure and he pulled out of her, letting her body collapse against his bed. His emerald eyes lingered over her breasts and down her abdomen. Any interest that had once lit up in his eyes had vanished.

"You're giving me that look again," Kassia's lip was jutted out in a pout up at him as she crawled across the mattress, rising on her knees to sling her arms around his shoulders. She knew how he felt about her. How he felt about really anyone. It was always limited. Silas' chest rose and fell with a sigh, giving her a look that showed he really couldn't muster up any sort of response. He took her arms, unwrapping himself from them, and moved toward the bathroom, turning on the shower.

When he re-emerged from his shower, Kassia was gone. He dressed, the last piece to be pulled on being the glove he wore on his bow-wielding hand.

The house was full of life around him. Many of the members of Serpent D'ivoire were quick to help themselves to the house. Heading down a set of oak stairs that creaked beneath one's weight, Silas found his younger brother, Jared looking over a member's gun.

"You're going to take your fucking foot off if you don't watch where you aim that thing," Silas scolded his brother who had the gun pointed directly at his shoe. The eighteen-year-old quickly readjusted, but Silas raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, mostly with Miles who hadn't been paying attention in the first place to his own gun. Kassia, who was perched on one of the living room couches, watched Silas who blatantly ignored her presence and shoved the back door open.

Outside, the air held a much-needed breeze. It ruffled the waves of deep brown hair on top of his head. It didn't do much to keep the constant smell of vendor food from smacking his senses, but it was enough to catch glimpses of fresh air -- or whatever was possibly considered fresh air in a city.

Silas had tugged the keys to his motorcycle free from his leather jacket. A large tarp had been laid over the sport cruiser, its black paint still fresh as the day it was purchased. Hoping on, the engine roared and he took off through the alleyway behind his home. Riding his motorcycle was a tangible essence of freedom. An addictive, hedonistic experience where all of his senses were assaulted and brought to life. Adrenaline.

Faster and faster, the engine purred loudly, his sleek black helmet blocking the wind that pelted against him as he propelled down the streets toward the true home of his gang. Deeper within the heart of the city. His tires slowed when he reached the large locked-down building. It towered over him and the streets were no longer as busy as where he’d departed from. Loud honking could be heard in the distance every so often, but no one walked the streets. They didn’t dare.

Silas had rolled up to one of the boarded-up windows, giving it a sequence of knocks before proceeding forward through another alley until he reached a heavy metal storage door. The door did not open, but a window did, sliding open just enough for someone to peer out at Silas, taking in the tattoo against the side of his neck. The symbol of his gang. A two-headed angry serpent.

The door finally opened and he brought his ride inside, letting it shut behind him when a loud voice echoed through the space toward him.

“There’s the bastard,” a condescending, drunken voice slurred out and Silas watched his father's unbalanced figure as he approached. “Those motherfuckers got us, Sy” he could barely form the words, but he had done enough for Silas’ jaw to tighten and he turned to someone with more than one brain cell.

“What’s he talking about?”

A man with honey-colored skin answered. Lorenzo. “Homeless Royals made a move on us while we were making a run,” he started and Silas’ gaze flickered through the room, making a headcount and when he came up one short, Enzo finished. “Callum’s dead, and they looted the money we made,”

Darkness flickered behind Silas’ eyes, but he forced it down, knowing it wouldn’t do him any good. Not here. Not with his father around. His father was so sure he was the leader of the gang, but when he wasn’t in his way, more things got done than they ever had under his supervision.

“I’ll take care of it,” was all Silas said and Enzo visibly fought not to speak up. Silas’s father laughed as he walked toward his bow. Between his stealth and his agility, it was a better weapon than any gun had ever been. It was seldom that he missed his target.

* * *

Night had fallen by the time Silas made it to the edge of Sector 4. He had parked the bike, all lights and noise vanishing as he stepped off. Instead of searching the street ahead, his head was craned to investigate the tops of the buildings that now surrounded him. Vantage points.

With his bow and arrows strapped to his back, he continued forward through the backstreets and alleyways. The sky above was dark, thick streaks of cloud filtering the moonlight. As he drew closer to where he was aware the rival gang took refuge, Silas began climbing. Using large dumpsters, fire escapes, and window ledges to hoist himself up further and further. He had never been afraid of heights and the day he realized it, he didn’t stop chasing the rush of climbing. It was why he enjoyed the silence of his bow, the way he could take someone out without any sound or risk of being spotted.

Now on top of an apartment building, he assessed the long space before him, winding turbine vents whirred as he took soundless steps across, stopping and dropping into a crouch when he noticed he wasn’t alone. Two men stood on top of a nearby building. Bandanas wrapped around their faces and they were equipped with rifles that glinted against whatever streams of moonlight could break through the fog above.

Silas released a low breath, now stationed behind a large metal air conditioning unit. Reaching over his shoulder, the Serpent drew his bow free, nocking an arrow with nimble fingers. The sharp hand-made point of his arrow twinkled while he parted his lips in concentration. He waited. Patiently he waited for the pacing figures on the other roof to move into position.

His fingers brushed ever so slightly against the skin beside his lips when he shot. The arrow soared through the night. The two men had moved in unison, one positioned directly in front of the other. A clean shot to deliver his arrow through the throat of one and continue into the next. Both bodies collapsed onto the roof, and only the sound of them hitting the rooftop and blood being gurgled could be heard.

Rising from his feet, Silas continued to the roof they’d been on, collecting his bloodied ammo before entering the base from above.

* * *

The inside was no better than the outside had looked. Run down and an utter mess. The smell of chemicals filled Silas’ nose. Meth. His bow still in hand, he continued through the house, he had entered through one of the windows, now lurking quietly inside someone's bedroom. His eyes took in the dark area. The bed was a mess of blankets, the floor cluttered with clothes and various drug paraphernalia littered the dresser top along with a single picture frame.

Silas stepped toward the dresser, reaching out to grab the frame. A girl. Hugging the male gang member that he had been looking for. Judging by the smile on their faces, he knew she was of some importance to him, but the closer he looked, the more resemblance he noticed. The little details of their faces. Siblings.

A loud thud caused Silas to set the picture down, pressing his back to the wall, and setting another arrow. Footsteps stomped around outside the door and a yell ensued then laughter echoed. There were several members in the house. He could barely make out what they had been saying, but a few words in particular stuck out to him that he could hear.

“I saw that fine ass sister of yours,” one of them laughed out, and by the sounds of it, earned a good hit for the comment.

“Fuck off,”

“You could have brought her the little birthday gift yourself, you know she works at that janky-ass bar further into the city,”

With one more glance toward the photo, he took mental note of the girl and headed back toward the window. He knew what he was going to do. Who he would have to find.

If they wanted to play games with his gang. Then he would play. An eye for an eye.

* * *

Silas checked himself into one of the motels further into the city and away from the Homeless Royals, keeping his presence low for the meantime. The next few days had dragged on it felt like. Coming up with nothing time and time again. He had tried several different bars, ready to give up and call in help from the rest of the Serpents when he pushed open the doors to The Crying Dog.

Making his way through the crowd, he sat down at the bar and groaned with irritation when an older woman came up to him.

“Hard day?”

“Hard life,” he offered her a smile he knew didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’ve got just the thing,” she smirked, reaching for a bottle of whiskey when a crashing sound erupted across the room and two men began brawling. The older woman growled to herself before yelling across the bar at them then she was calling for a girl by the name of Liv to help him with a drink while she settled the fight.

Silas continued watching the old drunken bastards go at it, faint amusement twinkling in his eyes and when he turned to the new bartender, his eyes froze on her.

It was her.

The girl from the picture.

Liv hated Saturdays. She disliked the late night crowd that packed themselves into The Crying Dog each weekend. She couldn't stand the drunks who sloshed whiskey all over themselves and the bar. Liv despised the fight club that always seemed to happen out front and hated the broke factory workers who couldn't seem to keep their oil stained hands off of her. Mostly, she couldn't stand the notorious visitors that seemed to spawn into the bar every time she blinked her eyes.

"I don't know why you hate them all so much." The older woman next to Olive stated, her burly frame leaning against the nearby sink. Katrina Schmidt, the owner of The Crying Dog, was a short woman with graying hair that curled around her head like roots. Her face, thick with smoker wrinkles, always held an expression of wicked cleverness and lost beauty. In the five years since Liv had been under the old woman's employment, she had never changed. It was as if her face had reached maximum age and would now stay permanently stuck in it's own limbo.

"It's because of how entitled they all act." Liv shot back, grabbing a stack of fresh glasses from behind the woman's short frame. "They come in here every Saturday and act as if they're doing us a favor by scaring away half the customers and leaving meager tips. I don't care if they have the power to have me killed out back, I refuse to give them any special treatments. Trust me, The Homeless Royals do not deserve my kindness or yours for that matter."

Sighing at Liv's remarks, Katrina shook her head, the light catching the silver strains in her hair.

"Yes, well, with all things considered I thought you'd at least work with the advantages of their visits. I've seen you take home shop owners and men with far less money and status. I just assumed you'd go where the real money is. I know if I was young and beautiful again, that's what I would do. Men pay for beauty, Olive, and they'd certainly pay you for yours. Hate them all you want, I'm just suggesting you do not mix business with your personal grievances."

Grabbing down a bottle of Double Eagle, Katrina pushed it into Liv's hands. Her fingers were warm and Olive blinked down at the woman and then away again. "Table four dear. In the back." She crowed, nodding towards the door leading out the dimly lit kitchen. With a defeated huff, Liv nodded, her free hand grabbing several snifters on the way out. Maybe Katrina thought she was right, but Liv knew how wrong she really was. The Homeless Royals and their allies were not worth the devastation.

°°°

The world was dead. Olive checked the time as she slipped out the back of The Crying Dog, noting it was well pass three a.m. Although Moridunum was a city of sin, the early morning hours were always the quietest. In the distance the sound of dogs barking could be heard, with the occasional clank of a dump truck. Liv's thoughts were drifting as she locked up the back door and turned, nearly smacking into the chest of a man.

"Jesus! What the hell!" Olive shot out, her hands darting out in front of her to shove the stranger away.

"We're closed." She snapped out, adrenalin and fear flooding every rational brain cell. The man grunted as he took a few steps backwards and he didn't try to stop her as Liv rushed past him.

"I know who you are Olive." The mans deep voice called behind her, amusement in the tone. Without glancing at him, Liv reached into her jacket, clenching the pistol Katrina gave her last year. Her finger hovered over the safety as she quickened her pace.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She called out over her shoulder, her eyes glimpsing a beard and blonde well kept hair.

"Oh I think you do, Olive Del Vecchio. Did you truly think you could hide anywhere in this sector and we wouldn't know? We know all about you Liv," laughing the man pulled something from his coat and Liv turned, her gun suddenly out and pointing directly at the man. Her finger shook as it pressed the safety off. She had never shot someone before, and she didn't want to now. Not really. Not when it was the anniversary of her parents deaths, not when she didn't have enough money to properly flee afterwards.

"Relax. It's just a package." Clicking his tongue, the man tossed it, the brown paper bag sliding across the rough pavement to land at her feet. "Your brother says happy birthday Olive."

Once a powerful and wealthy family, the Del Vecchio's have always been active members of The Homeless Royals. As one of the oldest families in Moridunum, the Del Vecchio children should have had a bright future planned out for them. Education, the funds to leave the city if they desired, and a place in the ranks. On Liv's 11th birthday, her world crashed around her. Both her parents and nearly all of the Del Vecchio family were brutally murdered during a business transaction with the wealthiest sector in Moridunum. Olive and her brother, the only survivors, became orphans in a world that would soon chew and spit them out. Bitter towards the lifestyle that took her future away, Liv has spent the last decade putting as much space between herself and The Homeless Royals as possible. Unless necessary, Liv never uses her surname and most people have no idea who she is. Often struggling to make ends meet, Liv can often be found working at The Crying Dog, a bar that's shared between sector 3 and 4. With a small and safe apartment, Liv spends most of her time as a recluse. She has few friends, keeps her head down, and does what needs to be done. If it helps Liv grow closer to escaping or buying her way out of the city, she does it without complaint. With a pretty large savings already, Liv hopes to be able to leave Moridunum by the time she is 25.

Although Olive is known to have a hot temper and bad attitude, Liv has a big heart. The balcony of her apartment is often covered with stray cats and Liv is known to give food to children who live in her apartment complex. Quick to stand up for others, Liv has never been able to turn her back on someone in need. Highly Intelligent, witty, and resourceful, Liv should be something more than a bartender who occasionally sleeps with men for money.