[RO] wasn't born for anything
“What a moron.” Mosie sifted through the bag, scoffing at their haul. “All this just for a couple of notes?”

Landon plucked a cigarette out and waved it over the fire pit to light. As he inhaled, a calm settled over his body.

Even if she could read, Mosie wouldn’t have cared for what the notes said. They were nonsense, observations about birds or the weather, nothing that warranted such good paper and ink. Landon had begun to tear the white space from the notes to save the scraps, but every time his gaze passed over the messages, he couldn’t help feel a tickle of suspicion. The pay they got suggested the price of these notes was double the worth. Landon had seen how traders marked up their goods for travelers—asking for rare hides or exotic spices even though stuff like salt was plentiful here. Cipher seemed like a man of many connections. Why waste his time and resources on this, if there wasn’t something much better on the other end?

He began to keep an eye out to their recipients. They were farmers sometimes, merchants, and a few gamblers too. None of them were particularly wealthy nor had much in common between them. None of it explained what they did with the messages and Cipher certainly wouldn’t.

“Are you gonna give this to Dad?” Mosie asked. The bottle of rum glinted in the firelight of Cook’s Den, and she gave it a little jiggle.

He took the drink by the neck, uncorked it, and gave it a sniff. “No.”

“Are you gonna drink it?” Her expression, though smiling, twinged with worry.


She looked relieved.

“This is my wager,” He said, sealing the bottle. “I’m going to La-Roux’s tonight. You and Owen will have to dig yourselves out of trouble.”

He’d been playing cards in the alley for a little while now. The games were harder than they looked, but he had been a fast student, especially once he had a deck of his own to study.

Griffin had seen him practicing one night. In a rare sober mood, he had shown him a few tricks he’d learned. There’s no such thing as a good player, he told him, just a better cheater.

“You can't ditch us that easily,” She scoffed. “Fuck no. I’m not gonna miss the dumb look on your face when you lose.”

Landon glanced to the darkness where their brother had left and would soon return. A good spot to piss shouldn’t be that hard to find, but Owen had particularities about this sort of thing.

“What kind of face is that?” He asked, tapping off the ash of his smoke. He wasn’t the most expressive sibling, after all.

“Something like this,” she put a finger to her nose and lifted so that only her front teeth were showing, like a mutation between dog and pig. “Bleehh!”

He smirked. “You’ve got it wrong. That’s my winning face.”

She threw back her head in a cackle of delight. It didn’t matter what kind of day they had, Mosie Winsor was always in a good mood, like she just couldn’t get enough of what life had to offer.

“Bet you won’t do that when you win.”

“Bet your share I will,” he said.

Fuck you. I hope you lose.” They shook on it.
(—) | NPCs: Mosie Winsor

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