"Says here you're coming in from... the south of Vale? That right?"
"That's right," Cinder says, and it takes all of her effort to hold her curt tone back behind her teeth before she can ruin whatever little goodwill she already doesn't have. "I was quite the established businesswoman, before it all went to hell on the mainland."
"Right," says the border guard, and she looks down at Cinder's false passport with a critical eye like she can sense something's off about it. Not that there should be a single detectable flaw; Mercury does fantastic work once you've lit a fire under their ass. "You got your papers? Just to verify your refugee status and all."
It galls Cinder, it really does, to have to consider herself anything akin to a refugee of all things, but that's what happens when the four main continental powers decide to start bombing each other with payloads of Dust that rent the ground asunder; Vacuo is mostly just a big pit these days, more than it ever was before, whilst Mistral's capital has been, to put it politely, levelled. Sure, Cinder could have pulled what few strings remained to find herself a decently outfitted bunker in which to hunker down, but then the remnants of the Atlesian army had come marching through Sanus with some new scorched earth policy and so Cinder had bribed her way onto the next ship carrying survivors off to the mostly-untouched shores of Menagerie, where they're now being grilled for any ties back to the warring militaries back home. Civilians only, say the signs scattered around. Keep your shit off our shores.
That'd been all well and good up until, uh, now, because Cinder doesn't have any papers. Well, unless stacks of emergency Lien count. It's why she's having to use a falsified passport in the first place, because whilst there may not be any wanted posters up and around, she knows that her name has spread far and wide enough that chances are this tall rabbit-eared guard will punt her right back out onto the boat if she figures out the truth.
Bribery it's going to be, then. "Well, about that--"
Right away, the guard looks darkly unimpressed, and she crosses her arms to transform into an implacable wall between Cinder and the safety of the Menagerie border. Shit.
"Think you're the first sympathiser to smuggle yourself onto our boats?" she asks, voice thick with the lilting growl of a native Menagerie accent. "I wasn't born yesterday, Miss Ember."
Damn Mercury for picking that stupid name. "I'm not a sympathiser, Miss... um..."
The guard blinks, slow and purposeful. "Scarlatina."
"Scarlatina." A pretty name, Cinder thinks, which she doesn't say right now because chances are it won't be particularly endearing. "I'm just a wanderer who doesn't want to get shot by an Atlesian solider with a vendetta against, well, everyone. I can make it worth your while if you'll hear me out."
With that, Cinder dares to open her coat just widely enough to flash a few Lien cards (and if it happens to permit a well-needed breeze of balmy air, that's just peachy. Ideally, she'd be dressed in little more than a vest and boardshorts in this heat, but that doesn't do so well for disguises, in her experience, even if her impressive caprine horns aren't exactly subtle), and Scarlatina's eyes fall for a split-second before she tilts her head, ears leaning to one side. She's giving Cinder this agonisingly calculating look and for just a second Cinder thinks she won't take the bait... and then she sighs, rolling her shoulders before jabbing her thumb towards a collection of corrugated sheets and plywood that can scarcely be called a shack. "Step into my office. I'll sort you out there."
Success. Cinder smiles easily and nods, tugging her coat closer about herself as she navigates out of the crowds that surround an old warehouse now turned border control centre, following Scarlatina along the boardwalk with a bounce in her step. Even here, money makes the world spin, and so long as that's true she'll always have her ways.
Once she's stepped into Scarlatina's, ah, office, however--and it really is just mostly a cubicle, a fold-out camping table and matching chair making for a pathetically tiny workspace that's already crammed with papers and notes and a few rounds for the old rifle she has slung over one broad shoulder--Scarlatina turns on her heel, leans over to close the "door" behind them, and then scoffs right in Cinder's face.
"You know," she starts, dark eyes narrowing, "it's actually quite impressive that you think a pair of sunglasses and a big coat could possibly make anyone think you were anyone other than who you are, Cinder."
Ah, shit. Cinder smiles (just a little bit nervously now) and she tightens her grip around the Lien with sweaty palms. "I'd say I'm sure I don't know who you're talking about, but that might do us both a disservice, wouldn't it?"
Scarlatina grunts, and then she rounds the table to throw herself down into the camping chair, putting her gun aside. Okay, well, at least Cinder can reliably say she isn't about to die. "Why even bother lying? Unless you've been funding Vale's militia."
The look on Cinder's face says it all, and Scarlatina huffs out a laugh, running a hand through her long, dark tresses of hair. "Menagerie is taking in anyone who isn't associated with any of the four powers, militarily or politically. Why try sneaking in?"
"Thought you might not want a wanted woman on your shores," Cinder admits, because there's little use playing up a persona now. "I'd hoped the fact it's so busy here might mean I could slip away, but..." Instead, she'd been approached by a six-foot-odd tall guard with a freckled face and rounded delts that had made Cinder think twice about making a quick getaway, and now look where it's got her.
Scarlatina sighs, and then cracks her knuckles with a tired groan. "Look. Look, I don't give a damn who comes in so long as innocent people are safe from all... that shit," she says, waving a hand vaguely enough towards the direction of Sanus and Anima. "Hell, we've never even done this border stuff before. It's not our thing, but the last thing we wanted was for some dipshit to try for a military coup. We're no-one's island to annex."
No doubt Atlas would have tried already, if Mistral hadn't made a damn good go of it first. "That's fair. Does that mean you're not going to kick me back onto the boat?"
Scarlatina gives Cinder a long sideways look, like maybe she's still considering it, and then she shakes her head. "Nah. 'S done is done. I'll write you up a refugee pass and you'll be free to roam."
Excellent. Cinder is almost pleased she didn't have to pay a single thing, but then that seems oddly dishonest of her and she slides over a few Lien cards over the desk anyway. Technically speaking, she did offer. "As a tip."
Before she can retract her hand all the way, however, Scarlatina's calloused fingers wrap about her wrist, and Cinder finds herself tugged halfway across the table, Scarlatina's grin worryingly sardonic.
"Fair warning, though," she starts, light and easy like she isn't starting a threat. "You start causing trouble for the people who're just looking for a new start here? Start taking advantage of those who don't know better?" Her grip tightens to the barest edge of pain, and Cinder feels it right up her arm. "You and me are gonna have a problem."
"Understood," Cinder grunts, and when her wrist is released her tanned skin is marred with a perfect imprint of Scarlatina's grip. That's gonna bruise. "And who should I be looking out for, should I come across your bad side?"
Scarlatina's grin changes just enough to be almost friendly--something in her curve of her mouth, maybe, or the brightness of her bucked teeth--and she offers out her hand in a significantly less painful manner. "Velvet Scarlatina. Menagerie huntress, at your service."
Cinder shakes her hand, and when Velvet tightens her grip again teasingly, it takes all her willpower not to flinch away. "Cinder Fall. Lovely to make your acquaintance."
Velvet laughs, but it isn't particularly comforting. Cinder hopes this won't be a trend. "You'd better hope it is."
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