Greggory snapped awake abruptly, consumed with a panic and dread so intense that it had yanked him from a soft, formless dream.
``Ah! Hah! Hah... Hah...'' he panted heavily, the hairless cat trembling, limbs shaking and nearly-naked figure dripping with cold sweat. His sharp ears folded back against his sleek head, one of his paws clasping clumsily at his chest, as if trying to remove some unseen obstruction that was making it hard to breathe. ``Oh- F- Fuck... Fuck...'' Greggory gasped, pressing himself back against the wall he'd fallen asleep against in the small room.
Still thrumming with terror, his eyes snapped around the little room, taking it all in. Dim light filtered in through a set of locked glass doors nearby; not sunlight, but off-white limelight, illuminating the Keep from the outside.
Barely any floor space. A door opposite the patio doors, closed just as firmly, and letting in only a bare sliver of light from the hallway beyond. This was enough to see everything in the room, including a small table, no chair, with an empty clay plate and matching clay tankard of plain water. No bed, but a few errant and scratchy blankets lay here and there, discarded.
Nothing else. Nothing that would inspire such piercing fear, such ACHE in his chest, so where...?
Oh.
He gulped, hard, still trembling, but clasping one paw with the other and forcing himself to slow his breathing. His long, sleek tail shivered between his thighs, the thin shorts he was wearing plastered to his skin with sweat.
Greggory swallowed, hard, pressing his head back against the smooth wooden wall. Calm, calm... caaaalm...
Regiina.
He winced, just thinking her name coming with the feeling of a sharp needle. She must have been nearby, Rioting his emotions, toying with him. The little room was barely an office space, but it was nestled in the Keep among a few bedrooms, one of which was his step-sister's; she often liked to send Emotional Allomancy through the walls, terrorizing him in one way or another at any random point of the day.
Fear, anger, depression, loss, shame... She just adored using her powers to hurt him.
He could still feel that piercing panic, that need to FLEE, to RUN, to SURVIVE, beating in his chest. But, now that he knew it was from outside him, he could tamp it down, focusing.
It was a shame all his senses felt so... dulled. But, still, he grounded himself.
The hard wood against his paws and back. The mild musk of his own sweat filling his lungs with each breath. The sweetness of the one little bit of fruit he'd had before falling asleep. The sound of his own breathing, slower and slower by the moment, settling. The sight of the mist beyond his glass doors, swirling and twisting and dancing, as if beckoning him to join some unseen partner adorned all in white...
``Hooooo...'' Greggory exhaled, closing his eyes lightly. He held the exhale a few moments, then inhaled through his nose, heart slowing to a more manageable thumpaa-thumpaa-thumpaa, instead of the desperate BUMBUMBUMBUMBUM that had awoken him.
Slowly, he tucked his bare feet up underneath his rump, shifting to a squat. Then, body still shaking a bit from soreness and shot nerves, Greggory slowly moved himself upright.
His legs protested, of course, making him wince sharply. Thighs and calves ached, paws tingly numbly from his less-than-appropriate cross-legged sleeping. He stared at them, still centering himself, as he splayed and curled his toes, waiting for the feeling to settle back into them normally.
The Rioting had been sharp, and powerful. His sister was, of course, an adept Rioter, an Allomancer capable of amplifying the emotional states of others. Well... step-sister.
Standing, pressed back against the wall, he didn't hear any footsteps, or the click of the lock on his door. Instead, the only moment he was aware someone was entering his room was when the door opened, swinging wide in a single sharp move, the light from the hall blinding him and making him yelp sharply.
``Ah!'' he grunted, bringing his paws up to cover his eyes, blinding flashes blinking against his eyelids.
Fuck, fuck, that hurt... It'd been too dark, and the hall lighting too thorough.
Now that they were in the room, though, he could hear the thumps of booted footsteps, a few sets. Collecting himself, he blinked his eyes open, lowering his hands so he could take in the sight of his... `visitors'.
Four of them.
At the head was... his step-father. The lion stood a head taller than Greggory, and was far broader, both in muscular shoulders and slight gut. Strong and sturdy, he loomed in a neat but plain suit, crisp around his thick figure. His gold fur was immaculate, and his dark, near-black mane was loose and wild around the sides at either side of his square face, but neatly braided along the top. The lion held a dueling cane, one paw clasping the hilt lightly, the tip of it pressed to the plain wooden floor.
To one side was the lion's younger two natural-born offspring, both lions like their father, gold and noble. At the man's elbow was Regiina, her curvaceous figure accentuated by a sleek but unadorned red dress, cloth woven around her bosom as if to capitalize on her bust. A clay necklace, painted to look like metal, hung around her throat, similar jewelry decorating her fingers and wrists.
Beside her, standing back a bit, was Tiberius, the middle son. He looked like more of a workman, though he still wore a well-tailored set of slacks, neat boots, and a nice shirt, topping it off with a thick, stained leather apron tied around his waist, small tools poking out from pockets at his waist. Leather gloves covered his paws, and a set of goggles hung around his neck, the slender golden lion standing slightly hunched behind his father, tired eyes gazing lightly at Greggory, a short and squat bundle in his paws.
Lastly, to the other side, was a Terris steward. The family's steward, really, a tall and thin-limbed raccoon adorned in V-patterned, ornate robes, hanging neatly and colorfully from his slender form. His fur was kept neatly short, all light brown and tan with darker streaks under his small, intelligent eyes. He stood slightly bowed beside his master, angled towards the lion lord, his paws hidden in the sleeves of his robe.
``Greggory.'' The lion lord, Quartermain, rumbled deeply, hard eyes gazing firmly at his wife's son.
He said nothing further, raising a paw and snapping sharply. Immediately, Regiina curtsied her favor at his side, stepped closer, and announced to the hairless cat trembling, sweaty and exhausted, ``Father has a task for you this night. Rejoice, your pathetic hide will render itself of use to the House once more!''
She spoke with a haughty edge, and he could feel her shoving at his emotions again, trying to rile him up. Surges of indignation, of pride, of anger, but all just foreign enough that he knew they didn't come from inside him.
... Well, maybe a little bit, but not as intensely as they felt.
So, keeping his temper cool, he straightened his posture, stepping from the wall on trembling legs, tail tucking between his ankles as he nodded simply. ``Yes sir,'' he whispered hoarsely, trying not to wince at how sore his throat felt. Greggory kept his paws at his side, keeping his gaze down, servile and placid. Almost mirroring the Terris steward, really, standing silent and elegant beside the lion noblemen.
``Covander,'' Regiina invited, gesturing to the V-robe-wearing man. The raccoon didn't nod or answer, he simply glided forth, extracting his paws from his sleeves to reveal a neatly-wrapped bundle of cloth. Greggory couldn't take his eyes off it, heart speeding up at the sight of it as the elegant Terrisman, Covander, bent at the waist and set it lightly on the floor, perfectly poised between the cat and his lion step-father.
``Dress, boy,'' Quartermain instructed. Greggory didn't need to be told twice, slipping down and unfolding the bundle, extracting first a pair of mid-calf pants. As the smaller feline dressed, the man said, ``You will travel to and infiltrate Keep Lobos, unnoticed.
``Using information gathered by our spies, you will enter between guard patrols, make your way to the Keep's sleeping quarters, and locate the leader of House Lobos, Ariadne, in her library. There, you will attack and assassinate her, before escaping, making a scene and causing as much casualty to the Lobos guards and family as possible on your way out. You will exit, deprive yourself of any pursuers, and hide in the slums until sunrise.
``At which point, you will return via the back routes, unnoticed to any observers of the Keep. Understood?'' the imposing patriarch rumbled, a slight warning growl leaving him.
While the man spoke, Greggory had pulled on his pants, as well as a light shirt with half-length sleeves that came to mid-forearm, leaving his hands and feet bare. He tucked the shirt in, then picked up a sturdy leather belt, slipping it around his waist and securing it tightly, fingers brushing against the little glass vials of oil held in corded loops along the belt's length.
At the question, the cat lifted his head, ears still held low. He gave a simple nod, confirming aloud, ``Yes, I understand sir.''
At that point, Tiberius stepped forward, holding out his own bundle. ``Just a few glass daggers,'' he informed his step-brother, the cat unfolding the bundle in the lion's arms to extract a pair of sheathed blades, the hilts wrapped in cloth. He brought them to his thighs, strapping them down securely, drawing one an inch or two to get a look at the hardened glass edge.
Underneath the daggers were three little pouches, soft leather with simple clasps holding them shut. They jangled metallically when Greggory hefted the small coin bags, tying each to his belt in turn.
Once the daggers and coin bags were secure, Tiberius threw the cloth across his shoulder, and tucked a gloved paw into one of his pouches, extracting one more glass vial. He held it almost reverently, gently held with his index finger and thumb, the liquid inside sloshing with a single little air bubble, and a tiny bead of black, glinting metal.
``You will be provided,'' Quartermain rumbled, tone still speaking of threat and warning, ``a bead of Atium. I hope this impresses upon you how important it is you DO. NOT. FAIL. ME.''
Greggory's ear's perked at the sight of it, eyes widening, before he caught himself and hid the reaction. Instead, he nodded, accepting the little glass vial from his step-brother. The slightly older lion gave him a nod; though not outwardly, the hairless cat did tend to feel that Tiberius, at least, tended to be more on his side. Or at least, less in favor of trying to grind the slender cat into dust. He was... an encouragement, and it was nice to know that his weapons and metals were directly handled by a member of his family who he could more soundly rely upon.
Fingers trembling, Greggory slipped the final glass vial of oil, and the blackened bead of metal bouncing around lazily inside, into one of the open slots of his belt. Then, lastly, he looked at the last piece of clothing on the floor, half-folded.
He leaned down, feeling Quartermain, Regiina, and Tiberius staring at him as he gently lifted up the hooded cloak. It was gray cloth, something of a half-cloak with a tight, narrow hood, slits cut into the sides for his ears to poke through. Attached to the cloak, hanging long and swaying, were thin strips of cloth of slightly differing shades and colors, some lighter, some darker, some blue-tinted, some warmer-colored, but all just barely different from one another.
A mistcloak. HIS mistcloak.
Almost reverently, the little cat slipped the cloak up, curling it over his shoulders and letting the long tassels drape down his body, hanging past his knees. It swayed, mist-like, around his body as he secured the two ties at the front.
His fingers hesitated, pressed against the soft gray cloth that now covered his collarbone. It was sleek and soft, the texture smooth against his soft paw pads.
But, a moment later, he lifted his head, meeting Quartermain's gaze, feeling more... in his role.
He slipped one of the vials from his belt; not the one with the Atium bead in it, but one of the others, and popped the cork free with his thumb, letting it bounce away freely. Feeling the lions' staring, aware of the raccoon standing silently nearby, he tipped the vial and gulped down the contents in one go.
He didn't sigh in satisfaction; he actually had to fight back a shiver. The oil tasted vile, something cheap and thin and a bit bitter.
A second later, power burned in his stomach, and he... tensed. Relaxed. Both at the same time, somehow. His limbs felt more firm, the cold of his sweat-soaked clothing against his skin feeling suddenly frigid, and yet... bearable. Heat welled in his gut, kindling that spread into his arms and legs and head, bringing clarity.
His gaze flicked to Regiina; now, he could pick out the slight scratches hidden against one side of her face, her golden fur enough to obscure it to any normal view. Her harsh green eyes burned with an anger, a hatred for him, but the slight bags underneath... she obviously wasn't getting enough sleep. Stress? Pressure? Too much work, too little time? It certainly wasn't too much frivolity and play, if he had to guess.
For a moment, he still felt her pressure against him. Rioting his fear, his anxiety, his stress and terror and indignation and pride and anger, almost trying to SHOVE him into reacting in a way that would get him punished harshly.
Punished like she had been? Those claw-scrapes on her cheek certainly looked broad enough to be from Quartermain.
But, a second later, it departed him. One of the benefits of his Allomancy, though he didn't often get to use it.
Feeling... charitable, now that he wasn't under Regiina's emotional pressuring, he decided to reach his own Allomantic touch out. Zinc and brass, burning in his stomach, let him send forth a focused swell of emotional influence toward her.
Sooth away the shame and pain of whatever failure had earned her that strike. Sooth away the fear that she would fail again, that his failures would be her failures. That was brass, letting him reduce emotions and feelings; useful for taking away what might be unhelpful in one's target.
In turn, Riot her confidence, her security. Swell her up a little, an unseen encouragement of Allomancy, urging her to be strong, to know, in her heart, she would succeed. Zinc got the job done, burning in his gut, amplifying the undercurrent of emotions below, encouraging differing ideas.
Maybe she didn't deserve it. But he wouldn't stoop to her level.
He could see her relax into his Emotional Allomancy. For as well-versed as she was in using zinc, Rioting others to get what she wanted, she never seemed to have the self-awareness to notice when he, in turn, used either it or its pair on her. Even if it was uncommon that he got access to metals around her, whereas she could have all the metal she wanted to Riot him into terrors and depressions. He watched her shoulders relax, her fingers no longer fiddling with her metal-painted rings. She settled, and her eyes turned up to her father, warm and eager, ready to do their work.
She, surely, had some role in tonight's activities. And, with that little nudging from him, she now seemed ready to face it. Though not a Mistborn like Greggory, having access to all the Allomantic powers, as an adept Rioter and manipulator she was often given roles in accomplishing their father's goals.
Of course, he did the same for the other two accompanying his father, Covander and Tiberius.
Soothing anxieties and tiredness from Tiberius, allowing him to cease his own nervous shuffling of booted feet. Rioting Covander's warmth and fondness, the man's pride in his work, letting him stand a bit taller beside his masters. Trying to subtly urge both of them, through their emotions and mental states, to be at ease, to be their best.
All gentle touches, all soft enough that he hoped none of them would even notice, just improving how they felt a little bit in barely a few seconds.
... But not Quartermain. He didn't touch the man's emotions. In part, because he could never seem to get a read on what, exactly, the lion felt. His broad shoulders were firm, yes, but... was it anxiety, or control, or something else? Was his rigid expression from pride, or worry? The way his eyes burned, was that only anger, or disdain, or guilt?
It was all such a mess with Quartermain. Greggory wasn't good enough to figure what the man felt, and had always been told... in those long-ago days of his training... that playing with Emotional Allomancy blind was a dangerous gamble.
He wondered, idly, if the leonine patriarch of the House was aware of Greggory using Emotional Allomancy on his step-sister, step-brother, and steward. The man had a sharp eye, and often boasted resolutely of how strong a sense of observation he had, so it was possible that he was fully aware that, each time Greggory was given metals in the company of others, they seemed to feel more confident, comfortable, and all-around effective.
If he was, Quartermain certainly never forbade the act.
Still, that little bit of Allomantic warm-up done, the cat exhaled, limbs rumbling with energy and excitement.
``Go.'' Quartermain said it firmly, simply, and gestured with a tilt of his head to the double-doors nearby, illuminated mist twisting beyond.
Greggory nodded back to his step-father, turning and striding past the three lion Nobles and their raccoon Terrisman, who diligently glided back a step to make room for the 22-year-old feline Mistborn. Greggory grabbed the handles and turned them, the painted wood feeling oddly soft in his strong grip; they were unlocked, of course.
He stepped out, bare foot and mistcloak swirling around him, mirroring and blending with the mists that twisted around him, attracted, it seemed, to his Allomancy. The burning metals in his belly seemed to bring the cool, white fog to dance against his skin.
Greggory wasn't thinking about his family anymore. He set his paws on the painted hand-rail, fingers curling against the almost soft wood. Inhale deeply, exhale slowly. He just took a second to drink in the mist, the cold night air, the gentle wind against his still-sweaty face, snout twitching as the chill prickled at his whiskers.
The terrace was high up enough that trying to use it to escape would be foolish, and likely just get the cat killed without Allomancy.
With it, though...
With Allomancy, he vaulted forward, tucking his legs up to his chest in one deft move. He swung his other paw upwards, rising over the rail on one hand, mistcloak fluttering around him in a swirl of gray cloth, hood flapping against his back.
He hurled himself into the misty night air.
