The Old City

0.65: Making Do

Seneca was trapped in a thicket so dense he couldn't turn his head without scraping against the needly branches. He'd been running for hours – no, he'd been running for days. Where was he even going? What was he running from?

All he knew was that if he stopped, he would die. Whatever was chasing him was relentless and did not tire. Those huge, red eyes always seemed just around the corner, glowing through the tree line. They hunted him. They wanted him dead.

Angelica.

Yes, Angelica. That's who he was running toward. She's why he couldn't stop.

He would not let death catch him today.

The Treehouse, two days later.

Mika had grown tired of staying inside. She longed to return to the sea, to feel the breeze on her face and breathe in that salt air. But the Black Phoenix knew her face now. It wasn't safe to go back herself, so she'd sent Fagin to the Harbor to secure her ship in one of the ancillary piers. But even that shithole was expensive. They didn't have enough money to keep her there for more than a week. They needed an alternative.

So she helped Seneca recover: replacing his bandages, lifting his head so he'd sip the tiniest amount of soup and water, recording his pulse for Ryster's records. It was infuriating work, but she was used to long days with no sign of progress. The doctor had said recovery was just like fishing: it happened not at all, then all at once.

Honestly, she wished she could just do this all day. The hours when Angelica cared for Seneca were the worst. She couldn't see the small twitches in his eyes and feel a tiny hope that he was about to wake up. She needed that hope.

Mika's thoughts drifted back to the first time she'd met Seneca on the Jaws of Soran. He always seemed so sure of what to do. She needed that right now.

No boat. No money. The crew collapsing. She needed certainty. She needed Seneca to wake up.

***

The Singing Beard, later that night.

Banjo sat in the middle of the Singing Beard, singing 'The Hallowed Night.' It was a ballad of bravery and despair, telling the story of a knight who ventured too far into a cursed kingdom to rescue his brother. With every step, he lost more of himself and while he eventually brought his brother home, he lost himself in the fray.

Banjo thought it fitting to sing of lost brothers today. He still worried that Seneca would never wake up, despite Ryster saying it should happen any day now.

The tavern was full of happy Rats. They drank well, sang loudly, and tipped well.

With Angelica and Marcus confined to the Treehouse, he'd taken the initiative to continue recruitment. Seneca would have wanted to keep the momentum going. He'd been desperate to find more members to join their crew.

Just as he finished 'The Hallowed Night,' a hulking young man walked up to him and tossed a coin. He had uneven blonde hair and a horribly crooked nose, but he was still fairly handsome. He broke into a wide, welcoming smile. "How about something happier, old boy? I foresee this will be a night to celebrate."

Banjo nodded. 'Old boy' was a code he'd circulated subtly around the pubs where he sang, whispering it in the ears of his closest friends to tell their closest friends and anyone who might have a grudge against the Enforcers of other gangs. This was the first person to use it.