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7/5/2025, 5:52:29 PM
“I’ll join you on patrol. I’ve got an uncanny talent for finding trouble, and it might actually come in handy for once,” you tell Cato, “Did you have a route planned out?”
“I was thinking of taking a look around the outskirts,” he answers, nodding for you to follow him, “The outermost regions of the city have been neglected for a very long time. I hesitate to call them “slums” exactly, but they’re close. If our enemies were hiding out somewhere, I would expect they would make their lair in the outskirts.”
“I see,” you pause, “So why haven’t you swept them out before now?”
Cato has the good graces to look embarrassed. “My priority was securing the interior,” he replies, “Now that the main perimeter has been established, we can start looking further out.”
“Well, whatever,” you decide with a shrug, “Lead the way.”
-
It’s clear that there’s something on Cato’s mind, something he doesn’t feel comfortable talking about. That seems to be normal for him, which is hardly surprising considering all the secrets shared between you. This time, though, you have a good idea of what’s bothering him. “You’re still thinking about that familiar face, aren’t you?” you ask quietly, “Still wondering who it might be.”
“I am,” he admits, “The Godhead tells us exactly what we need to know, but something I wish these prophecies could be a little more… specific. A familiar face could be someone I saw once and still faintly remember, or it could be a sworn companion of many years.”
“It could even be me,” you remark, offering him an ironic smile.
“It could even be you,” Cato agrees, “Although I certainly hope it isn’t. Seeing you again, only for us to meet as enemies once more… that would be too cruel.”
It’s times like these when you sense something womanly about Cato. Maybe it’s “compassion” or “empathy” or something equally foolish. “What about Justine?” you suggest, “Do you know her well?”
“No, I’ve only recently met her. As I understand it, she’s served the church here for ten years or so. A reliable character, by all accounts. That’s why I was recommended to liaise with her,” he shakes his head, “Why her?”
“She said…” you pause, then correct yourself, “She implied that she’d led a, ah, less than virtuous life before arriving here.”
“Hm,” a frown darkens Cato’s face, “She hasn’t said anything like that to me. Try to talk with her some more, if the opportunity arises. Somehow, I feel as if she’ll be more open with you. House Silvera has the reputation for being… judgemental. But you-”
“House Pale is already as low as it gets,” you joke, “So there’s no shame in discussing such things with us. Is that what you meant to say?”
Cato frowns again, but he certainly doesn’t disagree with you. He just walks on in silence, directing his scrutiny outwards as you approach the edge of town.
[1]
“I was thinking of taking a look around the outskirts,” he answers, nodding for you to follow him, “The outermost regions of the city have been neglected for a very long time. I hesitate to call them “slums” exactly, but they’re close. If our enemies were hiding out somewhere, I would expect they would make their lair in the outskirts.”
“I see,” you pause, “So why haven’t you swept them out before now?”
Cato has the good graces to look embarrassed. “My priority was securing the interior,” he replies, “Now that the main perimeter has been established, we can start looking further out.”
“Well, whatever,” you decide with a shrug, “Lead the way.”
-
It’s clear that there’s something on Cato’s mind, something he doesn’t feel comfortable talking about. That seems to be normal for him, which is hardly surprising considering all the secrets shared between you. This time, though, you have a good idea of what’s bothering him. “You’re still thinking about that familiar face, aren’t you?” you ask quietly, “Still wondering who it might be.”
“I am,” he admits, “The Godhead tells us exactly what we need to know, but something I wish these prophecies could be a little more… specific. A familiar face could be someone I saw once and still faintly remember, or it could be a sworn companion of many years.”
“It could even be me,” you remark, offering him an ironic smile.
“It could even be you,” Cato agrees, “Although I certainly hope it isn’t. Seeing you again, only for us to meet as enemies once more… that would be too cruel.”
It’s times like these when you sense something womanly about Cato. Maybe it’s “compassion” or “empathy” or something equally foolish. “What about Justine?” you suggest, “Do you know her well?”
“No, I’ve only recently met her. As I understand it, she’s served the church here for ten years or so. A reliable character, by all accounts. That’s why I was recommended to liaise with her,” he shakes his head, “Why her?”
“She said…” you pause, then correct yourself, “She implied that she’d led a, ah, less than virtuous life before arriving here.”
“Hm,” a frown darkens Cato’s face, “She hasn’t said anything like that to me. Try to talk with her some more, if the opportunity arises. Somehow, I feel as if she’ll be more open with you. House Silvera has the reputation for being… judgemental. But you-”
“House Pale is already as low as it gets,” you joke, “So there’s no shame in discussing such things with us. Is that what you meant to say?”
Cato frowns again, but he certainly doesn’t disagree with you. He just walks on in silence, directing his scrutiny outwards as you approach the edge of town.
[1]
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