It was an uncharacteristically dark day that Niska found himself glancing over his shoulder as he made his way through the eerily quiet warehouse district of one of Italy's prettier port towns. It was probably one of the nicer places to spend a fine day, he allowed, but it was hardly a fine day and Niska didn't much care for the quirky seashell shops or fancy seaside bistros or little farmer's markets. He was here on business, so he didn't have much time to spend on any of those things anyways. He had wandered quite a bit away from the charming tourist streets and managed to find himself right in the middle of one of the greyest warehouse districts he'd ever seen in this green country. Probably didn't help that the clouds overhead had been threatening rain for the last three days he had been here, hiding his and everyone else's shadows in its gloom.
As he walked in time with the sounds of waves hitting the docks, he considered the way his footsteps sounded against the cement: measured like a soldier's, but creeping and a little too soft for someone of his size. Footsteps always gave you away, and as he looked around, he wondered if there was anyone around to even listen to his steps. The district was a little too quiet to be right next door to a beach resort. Then again, he figured this wasn't the type of place where strangers came looking to pass the time when there was one of those fancy beachside hotels nearby. They were hiding in plain sight.
Niska was dressed down in his worn brown jacket and heavy boots, with a dark olive beanie pulled low around his ears. In his left hand he held a large plain duffle bag, with his other hand tucked into the pocket of his leather jacket. It was a bit chilly now, and he was ready to get out of the cold.
After walking a few more minutes, Niska approached the door of one warehouse in particular, his amber eyes taking the large structure in as he took a deep breath. He could sense them inside, more than a dozen different scents, shifty and acrid. He usually didn't like coming to meets alone, but he and Oskar went way back. And on top of that, the Russian was far from defenseless. True, he was getting up there in years, but after whipping himself back into shape to teach the younglings at Nightmare, Niska was on his way back to top form. His atrophying muscles had tightened up, and he felt fewer and fewer of his old injuries tugging at him to slow down. He had rebuilt himself, and he was ready to get back to work.
This was the place, alright. He unlatched the heavy metal arm locking the massive double doors and rolled one side back just enough that he could fit through. Ahead of him stretched rows and rows of crates and boxes, a million different scents and colors swirling through his mind. Oskar was a high-risk trader of magical items now, so it only made sense this his warehouse would be full of them. But it was cluttering up Niska's senses, bombarding him with sensation that had a million touches and none at all.
"Oskar!" Niska called, rapping his heavy fist against a nearby sheet of metal, the loud warble warble echoing off the crumbling stone walls. "Not gonna keep me waiting, are you? Storm's coming and I got places to be! Come on out, all of you!"
Just as the pounding finished echoing off the walls, Niska heard footsteps, quick and light, but with something of a scuffling, dragging noise every so often. Niska recognized Oskar's steps before he rounded the column of boxes, at the same time his dozen men revealed their hiding places among the scaffold and shelves. There were quite a few of them, all with their wands at the ready. Not Niska's favorite sight.
"Niska," the slender Irishman greeting him, inclining his head. "Good to see you again, old friend."
Amber eyes slid up and down Oskar's lean frame as an unpleasant chill went up Niska's spine. Something about this wasn't sitting right with him. Niska smiled, feeling his shoulders tense. "What, no hug? Is that any way to greet an old comrade in arms after all these years?" he asked, opening his arms to the other man. "I barely recognize you."
Oskar didn't move, merely giving Niska a thin smile. "Forgive me old friend, I am in something of a hurry today. Did you bring the money?"
Niska took in his surroundings, his eyes glowing. Something was off, all right, but he didn't know what. He needed to maintain control of the situation. Identify all the variables. Locate all the moving pieces first. Calm. Easy now...
"Fourteen thousand," Niska said, holding up the duffle bag. "Just like your man instructed. Where's the--?"
Niska was cut off when the door behind him rolled open and a familiar scent assaulted his senses.
No.
Impossible.
No. No way in hell. There's no way.
It was too familiar. Too out of place here. It sent his stomach turning like he was standing on edge right over a cliff. Niska almost felt like laughing-- this has to be some kind of great big cosmic joke, right? There was no way on earth that after all these months that she would turn up here...
And then she came into view, being hauled in by her arm by one of Oskar's men.
No. No. No no no no no NO.
"Oh my," Oskar chirped, standing on his toes now. "Who is this little snoop? Is she with you, Niska? I thought we told you to come alone."
