Wesley

"What about the monster attack?" he asked when no one else brought it up. "Did anyone get hurt?"

Mongrel finished the cigarette and started up another, giving it a few solid puffs before offering it out to Wesley. He shook his head, and the old man shrugged, then passed it off to the doctor instead.

"A few cuts and scrapes and shitted pants," Sam replied, "but no one died, if that's what you're asking. Honestly, the whole thing was over so fast I didn't even have time to join in—was all done by the time I got out the door."

"I guess Will must have assumed all the people would draw in some beasties," Mongrel added, "set up some sentries and such."

Sam nodded. She adjusted the unlaced front of the too-tight tunic she was wearing—probably One-Eye's, going by the size—and nodded along absently with the old man. "Prolly. He won't say much though. For all the grinners that made it onto the farm, there's loads dead in the woods."

"Killed clean," Hacksaw cut in, and motioned for a turn on the cigarette. "Over a hundred, at a guess. Wounds indicate projectiles, but not bullets or arrows. It's weird—I've never seen anything like it before. Almost like stab wounds, but… thinner. Too thin for any blade."

Sam stopped fussing with her shirt and started fussing with the necklace between her breasts instead. "It's kind of a big mystery. We've all been trying to figure out who killed all those grinners."

Griff piped up, his voice a hoarse growl: "'Cause who the fuck is quick enough to go and brain over a hundred grinners all around these woods before they even got the time to step on the property? That, and who the fuck kills like that anyhow?"

"We've managed to exclude Will from the equation," Sam said with a significant air, like a detective about to reveal her genius deduction, "on account of the fact that I was sucking his dick at the time. So he's got a—"

"Rock-hard alibi," Mongrel finished, and laughed at his own joke.

Griff chuckled.

Hacksaw's scary smile widened as he snorted out a pity laugh.

"What about Buck?" Wesley asked, shading his eyes from the sun as he looked up at the line of geniuses arrayed along the porch. He resisted the urge to give his leg a shake to unstick his testicles from the inside of his thigh.

"Well, that'd be a smart suggestion," Mongrel said, smiling encouragingly. Then he suddenly got all dead-faced and added: "If it wasn't so fucking stupid. C'mon, kid, think for once."

Hacksaw elaborated. "Lord Buck already used his semblance earlier in the night, so he was all tapped out."

"Besides, he's a sword-fighter," Griff concluded, "not some wizard type."

"He's a bit wizard-like," Wesley argued, shrugging.

"Well, it wasn't him," Mongrel said firmly.

"Who was it, then?"

The old man bristled, scratched his round belly, then grumbled under his breath and at last admitted: "We dunno. That's why it's a mystery."

"Only one present who's close to Lord Buck in level is that librarian, Fletcher," Hacksaw said, "but apparently he's no kind of fighter at all."

"Maybe he's trickier than he looks," Griff suggested. "You don't stick around as long as that guy without picking up a few things."

Hacksaw shrugged. "Yeah, maybe." He didn't sound too convinced, though.

The men continued their back-and-forth. Meanwhile, Sam jerked her head sharply to the side, and Wesley went off with her to the southwest corner of the house to chat more privately.

"What's going on?" Wesley asked.

Sam gave a smug little smirk, one bright fang glinting in the sun. "Heh. Only this. Check it." She held out her left hand; palm down, fingers splayed. "Wabam! What do you think of that?"

Wesley frowned until he noticed a dark tattoo band of intricate shapes running around the first digit of her ring finger. "Oh. Is that…?"

"Yep!"

"You're engaged?"

"Yep!"

"To, uh, One-Eye, or…?"

"Yeeep!"

"What's with the tattoo? Why not a real ring?" Wesley threw his hands up in a diplomatic gesture. "Not that I think it looks tacky or anything—just asking, is all."

Sam rubbed at the circular marking with her right thumb and forefinger, smiling fondly. "See, that's the cool part. It's this ability thing that marries you on like, an existential level or some shit. I dunno, he can probably explain it better than me. Basically we can like, feel each other's emotions and stuff now."

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"Trippy."

"Totally. I'm still getting used to it. But listen, I've got a favor to ask you."

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"You're supposed to be working for him or something, right?"

"I guess so. I'm not really supposed to talk about that."

"Right. Well, here's the thing. I knew he was in a bad way after the whole business with Brimstone, but he's got way too good of a poker face. Now that I can feel what he's feeling, I can actually tell how much he's hurting." Her smile faded, and she cradled her left hand in the other for a moment before letting them both fall. She shook her head and frowned at him from under knitted brows. "It's bad, Wes. Bad all over. I don't know how he's able to live with it. I only feel his emotions like an echo—maybe half as strong as my own or less—but sometimes it still feels like I can't even take a breath.

"Worst part is, I don't know how much of it is coming from his body and how much of it is in his head. Brain ghosts, you know."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Wesley murmured, throwing glances around while rolling his shoulders uncomfortably. Something told him that One-Eye probably wouldn't be too happy about him hearing any of this. "Uh, is there anything I can…?"

Sam gave his arm a firm squeeze and looked right into his soul with those big blue puppy eyes of hers. "I need you to keep an eye on him for me. Make sure he doesn't run himself into the ground. I'm gonna do what I can obviously, and I'll ask Serene too, but I figure the more people he's got in his corner, the better."

A not-so-small part of Wesley wanted very badly for One-Eye to fall down a well and break every bone in his body. Then again, it was pretty much impossible to say no to that innocent face of hers. "All right," he said, swallowing a sigh. "I'll… keep an eye on him and everything."

Sam took a step back with a relieved grin. "Thanks, man!" Realizing she'd gotten loud, she lowered her voice conspiratorially and said: "Just, uh, don't tell him what we talked about, yeah? He likes to be the one with all the secrets, and he gets all butthurt if—god forbid—someone ever finds something out about him."

"No problem," Wesley said, and couldn't help but chuckle at the mental image of One-Eye pouting like a child. "I've got you."

With that matter out of the way, Sam informed him that One-Eye was probably inside the house and let him get on his way while she returned to her little knitting group out front. Sure enough, the man was in the kitchen wearing a pink apron and those shiny black shades, just about to plate up breakfast for the kid and her woman caretaker.

After finishing up in there, he tossed the apron to land over the face of the robot standing like a statue in a corner and proceeded to lead Wesley out back through the living room, a bad limp in one leg.

"Where's Serene?" he asked. "I wanted both of you."

"She said she'd be here in a minute," Wesley replied, trying his best to match One-Eye's sluggish pace.

The assassin snorted. Getting out back of the property, he had Wesley drag an empty supply crate out from one of the walls so he could sit down on it and rest his bad leg. "Serene aside, then," he said, and struck a cigarette for himself. "I saw what you did last night."

Wesley stiffened. "What?"

One-Eye held up two fingers like a gun and pointed it at Wesley's forehead. "The shooting is what. Pew pew."

"Oh. Right." He wasn't too clear on what had happened himself.

"Killed a couple grinners, did you?"

"I guess so."

"With one bullet, no less."

Wesley didn't say anything. He thought that sounded right, but he still wasn't completely sure if One-Eye was fucking with him or not.

The assassin puffed on his cigarette; slow, thoughtful. Motioning with the orange-glowing cherry, he said: "Congratulations on hitting Level 5, by the way. Two levels in one day is a pretty rare achievement, you know, even with the lower ones."

"Huh?" Wesley looked down at his sheet, and sure enough, there were five AP crystals winking up at him. "Oh. I, uh…"

"One of the reasons I asked to see you is because I wanted to advise you on your build choices, but I see now that you already put your rewards in. Soulbind and… two points in Dexterity? That right?"

I have no idea. "Sure." How the fuck does he know more about me than I do?

"All right, well, let's see it then. This gun you're so in love with." He held his hand out expectantly. Aside from the twining mark on his finger, Wesley noticed he was also missing his pinky.

Wesley bristled once he processed the request. He instinctively put a hand on Justice, turning side-on to shield it from the assassin.

One-Eye tilted his head, face unreadable, not a hint of emotion showing through those shades. The silence stretched on.

Wesley already knew he didn't have a choice. It just took a bit for his body to accept that, too. Finally, he clawed the revolver out and handed it to One-Eye by the barrel—slapping the grip down on the man's palm a bit more roughly than was probably wise.

One-Eye turned the gun over in his hands, letting his pale fingers run intimately across its rugged steel planes. Those hands might as well have been roving across Wesley's body, stripping him naked—that was how it felt to have a man like that touch his gun.

"You know it's cursed, right?" One-Eye said, cocking an eyebrow over the rim of his shades.

"It's not cursed," Wesley insisted. "Uh, sir."

One-Eye chuckled joylessly. "Whatever you say, Wesley." He pointed it between his feet and tried to pull the trigger, but found it mute and stiff. "Hmm. It doesn't like me."

No one fucking likes you. "Yeah. He's tricky like that."

"He?"

"Nothing."

"Mmhmm." One-Eye weighed the gun appreciatively. "It's good craftsmanship. Three enchantments—Imbue, Attract, and Repel—plus something else I can't read. Probably Crow that stuck it on there somehow. Don't ask me how though, because there shouldn't have been room. Now that you've Soulbound it, you've got another free slot. We'll need to go over what you should put in that slot later."

"Yes, sir." It was taking a lot of willpower to keep from tearing the gun out of that bastard's ugly, mutilated hand.

"I might actually be able to find some use for you if you can get a good handle on this thing. You'll need practice with it."

Wesley pursed his lips. "Okay." Give it back.

One-Eye tapped the closed cylinder. "Fresh out of bullets though, I gather?"

"Yes, sir."

"I see. Go see ADAM about it—he'll cast more for you once the lord can start setting him up with materials."

Wesley nodded.

He finally got his gun back, and was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

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