Festering Wounds

three's never a crowd

Fletcher Flores comes from a long line of success. His ancestors were the type to conquer lands and explore the uncharted. The Flores name passed down to exceptional men and women, each generation leaving their mark on the world. From the ground up, his great grandfather established the first casino in the growing metropolitan of Cain. It was known as a kingdom among kingdoms. A place of entry only for the most worthy with the funds to prove it. Theodore Flores may have created the kingdom, but Fletcher was the first in his family to establish an empire. 

You remember now, your first drink. Something out of an elegant bottle, tall and skinny with curling vines and budding flowers engraved on the cap. Your uncle had poured himself a shot and in his drunkenly happy state, slid you the small glass when he caught you staring. 'Flores Tequila, Year 81' it read in wispy calligraphy. It's the high end stuff, your uncle said, the kind that hurts your pockets when you buy but soothes the ache on the way down. All in one swing, that's the rule.

You threw up that night and your uncle got an earful from his sister for serving her kid a shot. 

Today the Flores name is on more than just bottles of expensive alcohol or first class casinos. Upscale clothing lines, a special brand of cigars, and even a perfume collection. All out of the price range you'd grown up with. The Flores brand sells to those who can afford it and prides itself in the quality delivered.

It almost feels like a cruel joke. Sitting at Fletcher Flores's table when you'd never been able to afford his cheapest products. Bought by pockets deeper than you could imagine.

"I'll admit, our first meeting was less than favorable." Flores says and you completely agree. You would rather have not met him at all. "I wasn't expecting such commotion upon arrival. Thus, introductions are in order."  

Jace looks up from his second plate, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "So, first day of school ice breakers is what you're saying." 

"And I expect everyone to participate." Flores pointedly glances at the guard behind Jace. A slight turn of your head proves you have one of your own, gun holstered at his waist. And if that wasn't enough of a deterrent, Izen stands only mere steps away from Flores, already glaring daggers at Jace. "I'll gladly start us off-"

"Nah, I think I will." Jace straightens, making a show of clearing his throat and looking presentable. "Jace Knoll. My hobbies include long, romantic walks through Abel, drawing, and being nosy. In fact, I'm so good at being nosy that I made a career out of it." Nosiness was hardly a quality to be proud of but Jace wears it like a badge won.

He begins counting off on each finger, "informant, info broker, snitch, whatever you call it I'm good at getting my hands on people's secrets." Jace settles his chin on the palm of his hand, uncaring of his manners and hiking both elbows on the table. He looks like a bored kid in the back of the class. "But you probably already knew all of that, right, Fletcher?"

You're not sure what they see in each other. It feels as if you're sidelining a chess game between the two. Each opponent thinking of future moves and traps for their next play. And this is merely Jace setting up his pieces. Informants are sly like that. Max and Vega would constantly talk circles around each other, testing and prodding for knowledge even through the most mundane conversations. 

It'd been after a particular exhausting mission in which you returned home, squad in tow for a small get-together. Gen had forgotten to kick off their shoes before stepping on carpet. Walked to the bathroom and back before realizing the bloody crime scene they'd been leaving with each step. Tell the girl in 1502 to clean it for you, Max suggested, dude in 1013 charges a lot higher for hush cleaning services. He knew your neighbors better than you. Gotta keep an eye out, was his excuse, whole ship'll sink without the captain.