Mason Marks is a screw up.
Every day is a struggle to cough up enough money for rent, to ignore the reek of despair flooding the streets, to stop himself from slipping further into the shadows and slums of Downtown L.A.
And he is sick of it.
When h...
Not literally, of course. I've yet to see his dark eyes slip into slits or for his trucker coat to melt into scales running down his skin.
But him every other sense of the word—Damas is a snake.
"I sincerely hope you've all slept well." Warden Damas asks as he enters the training room.
Snakes are cunning.
"I know I have. But either way, we have more pressing matters at hand."
They are charming.
"Today will be you're second task. I have the pairings and assignments right here."
And they are deadly.
"Any questions?"
No one raises there hand. He passes out the assignments, the pairings. I watch him from my seat, quietly, half expecting his tongue to be forked as it runs along his teeth to further explain the instructions.
"Ah, that leaves us with Marks and Quinton to deal with an alleged apsaras participating in an underground poker ring," he slides the file across the desk, landing in my hands.
I pick it up, run my fingers along the tabs. It's thin. I flip it open. Few words fall beneath a sketch of a beautiful woman of south asian ethnicity—India, most likely—but then again, we're not dealing with human races. Using Leopold's lectures, asian ethnicity mirrors the folklore belonging to...
"Region Four?"
Damas looks at me, surprised. "That's correct, yes. She's from Region Four."
"Does she have a name?" Quin asks from beside me.
"The odd thing about this task is no... we do not know her name. Nor are we certain on her species--but due to reports of her appearance and gambling tendencies as well as unexplainable good fortune, we've drawn the conclusion that she's most likely an asparas," Damas says. He picks up the file, studying the few scraps of information inside. "Usually only the Nevada Lighthouse deals with these due to Vegas' casinos. Asparas are the sirens of casinos."
Unda narrows her eyes, turning around in her chair, after, of course, listening in on our conversation. "Warden Damas, should you really be sending those two on a task as difficult as that?" She sneers. "I know that I could handle it, but they could barley wrap their heads around where the dinner line started last night. With as little information as in that folder, I bet they won't even find the door of the poker ring's backroom."
Sometimes I wonder what Kate sees in her.
"Please focus on your own task for now, Junior Unda-Gorman," Damas snaps.
She greets us with one last sneer before turning back around. Quin is more than happy to return the favor.
"Now Unda-Gorman did bring up a good point." Damas places the file back on the desk before running a hand over his buzzcut. "Due to the lack of preparation, all we ask is that you manage to get into the bar's backroom where we have word that the game is held, confirm there is indeed an Aspara running or at least participating in the ring, and get out. We can handle it from there. Do not engage."
"Sounds easy enough to me." Quin leans back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head and then flailing when the chair squeaks and tilts a bit too far for comfort.
"Yeah," I say, tucking the file into my satchel. "How hard can it be?"
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