Kyle: “Caroline, I can—look, it’s not what you think. I can explain,” Kyle began, his voice a low, placating rumble, a tone Thalia would never have imagined him capable of. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, but the attempt at de-escalation was instantly futile.
Caroline’s feline eyes, sharp enough to spot a single dishonest twitch from across a crowded room, narrowed. Her gaze darted from his guilty face to the faint, telltale wisp of smoke still curling from the cigar clutched in his fingers.
Caroline: “Are you smoking?!” she shrieked. “You swore to me! You swore to us you had quit!” In a flash of motion, she snatched the cigar from his grasp, and flung it with contempt toward a polished brass spittoon in the corner. It landed with a faint, sizzling hiss.
The sudden, domestic violence of the act made Thalia flinch. She felt a deep, crawling sense of intrusion, as if she’d accidentally walked in on a deeply private argument. The terrifying power dynamic of the city’s underworld had completely inverted, leaving her stranded in a scene of pure, marital strife. She slowly began to rise from her seat, hoping to make a discreet exit.
Thalia: “Um,” she interjected softly, her voice feeling impossibly small. “Perhaps… do you two need a moment? I can certainly wait outside.”
Caroline: “And who’s this?” her voice was a whip-crack, all her previous frustration now redirected as she pulled herself off of Kyle’s lap and turned a scrutinizing gaze on Thalia. Her slitted eyes swept from Thalia’s pristine shoes to her unadorned face, a silent, sharp assessment.
Kyle: “She is just someone I’m working with on something for my job. A business associate,” he tried to explain, his voice strained as he straightened his suit jacket, a futile attempt to regain some dignity.
Caroline: “Oh, sure,” she drawled, the word dripping with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes. “Kyle, if you want to sleep around with other people, we don’t care. We’ve talked about this. But you don’t get to just avoid your family and then show up with some… ‘work associate’ in my club!”
Thalia, who had been trying to mentally disappear into the velvet wallpaper, felt a jolt. She narrowed her eyes in confusion, the phrasing ‘we don’t care’ seeming so alien. It took a few seconds for the implication to fully land, and when it did, a hot, mortified flush crept from her neck to her cheeks.
Kyle: “Caroline!” his voice boomed, a mixture of genuine anger and profound embarrassment. His ears were pinned back flat against his head. “I’m not sleeping around, and I am certainly not sleeping with her! She is a work associate, and this is a professional meeting!”
Caroline: “A very convenient excuse,” she shot back, planting her hands on her hips, her tail lashing behind her like an irritated cat’s.
Kyle: “It’s the truth!” he rebuked, slamming a heavy fist on the sofa cushion, the impact a dull thud that spoke of his fraying composure.
Caroline: “Well, maybe I would be more inclined to believe you if you actually visited your wives and your husband more than once a season!” she fired back, her voice rising again. “And when I do finally get to lay eyes on you after weeks of radio silence, I find you breaking a promise, smoking behind our backs!”
Kyle: “I’ve been under immense pressure lately! And it’s not like you never see me,” the doberman mutant protested, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. “I had dinner with you and the others just a few days ago. Does that not count for anything?”
Caroline remained unmoved, her arms crossed firmly over her generous bust, a statuesque figure of disapproval.
Caroline: “A rushed meal where you spent half the time with your mind somewhere else? No, Kyle. That does not count. Not nearly enough.”
Kyle: “Caroline! Please!” he begged, his voice dropping, becoming almost quiet, stripped of its usual command. “I promise, I will spend proper time with you all the moment I can. We’ll… we’ll go on a vacation, somewhere nice. No work. Just us. So, please, I am begging you, let’s not do this here.” His plea was raw, a stark glimpse of the man beneath the crime lord, desperate to contain a domestic crisis.
Thalia watched, utterly flabbergasted. The formidable Doberman mutant, a figure who commanded fear across the city, was now pinching the ridge of his nose, his shoulders slumped in a picture of pure, unadulterated stress. He looked… pitiful. A flicker of sympathy, entirely unexpected, stirred within her. Deciding to throw him a lifeline, she cleared her throat softly.
Thalia: “Um, Miss Caroline,” she interjected, her tone diplomatically gentle. “For what it’s worth, Kyle has been exceptionally busy assisting me with a matter of… grave importance. So please, don’t be too hard on him. I can vouch for his preoccupation.”
Caroline’s head swiveled back toward Thalia, her hands returning to her hips.
Caroline: “Honey,” she said, her tone shifting from wrath to a matter-of-fact bluntness that was somehow more devastating. “I don’t care if you’re trying to get into his pants. But as a courtesy, I feel I must warn you: Kyle is a terrible lover.”
Despite his inhuman features, a dark flush spread across Kyle’s muzzle. The effect was unmistakable. The feared Nighthound lieutenant was blushing.
Kyle: “Caroline!” he yelled, his voice cracking with a mixture of fury and profound embarrassment.
Caroline: “What?!” she yelled back, turning her fiery gaze back to him. “It’s the truth! Stavvy is a much better lover than you, and you know it! Mostly because he’s actually around more than one night a month and bothers to remember what we like!”
Kyle: “Just… please…” he whimpered, the sound utterly defeated, all fight gone from him.
Caroline stood her ground, arms crossed, staring down at Kyle, who now looked exactly like a guilty dog begging for forgiveness. The silent standoff lasted for several agonizing seconds before she finally let out a long, weary sigh, the anger draining from her posture.
Caroline:“Fine,” she conceded, her voice softening. “I suppose I’ve embarrassed you enough for one evening.” With a graceful, resigned movement, she finally took a seat on the sofa beside him, the storm momentarily passing.
A few painfully awkward seconds ticked by, the only sound the muffled bass from the performance hall below. Kyle, looking utterly defeated, finally broke the silence.
Kyle: “Caroline,” he began, his voice weary. “This is the part where you… you know, leave me to my business.”
Caroline: “Nope,” the singer stated, popping the ‘p’ with finality. “I just finished my set, and I haven’t seen you in forever. I’m staying right here until you leave.” To emphasize her point, she wrapped both arms around his bicep, hugging it possessively and resting her cheek against his shoulder. It was a display of intimate ownership that would have made the Velvet Lips' wealthiest patrons green with envy.
Kyle let out a low groan that seemed to emanate from the very depths of his soul, and the awkward silence descended once more. The three of them sat in a stiff triangle: Thalia, trying to be invisible; Kyle, a mountain of miserable tension; and Caroline, affixed to his side like a beautiful, stubborn barnacle.
Eventually, Thalia could bear it no longer. She cleared her throat softly, grasping for any thread of conversation to cut the tension.
Thalia: “So,” she began, turning to Kyle, “did I hear that correctly earlier? That you have… two wives and a husband?”
Before Kyle could muster a response, Caroline lifted her head, her expression brightening with a hint of pride.
Caroline: “We’re in a four-way polycule,” she explained, as if discussing a perfectly ordinary domestic arrangement. “Kyle is married to me, to Stavvy, and to Greta, and we’re all married to each other. It’s not the traditional kind of relationship, but it works for us… or at least, it was working for us until Mr. Important here decided to up and disappear on his family.”
Kyle felt the familiar urge to defend himself rise in his chest—to list the threats, the mergers, the territorial disputes that consumed his every waking hour. But one look at Caroline’s set jaw told him the argument was already lost. He simply sighed, the sound full of exhausted resignation.
Thalia: “Oh… I see,” she said, processing this. “That’s… certainly unique.”
Kyle: “Does that upset you?” he asked, a defensive edge returning to his voice. He studied her closely. “Because of your religion?”
Caroline: “Ew!” she recoiled, pulling back slightly to look at Thalia with fresh, wide-eyed disgust. “Kyle, you didn’t say you were meeting with some prissy follower of the Light!”
Thalia: “I am not a follower of the Light,” she corrected firmly, though without heat. “And no, the structure of your family doesn’t upset me.”
Kyle: “But you don’t approve?” he pressed, seemingly determined to find a boundary to push against.
Thalia considered her words carefully.
Thalia: “It is less about approval and more about… a lack of context. There is no doctrine within the teachings of the Red Church that speaks to such arrangements. So, I default to the principle I stated before: it is not my place to impose my values upon others. If the four of you have found happiness and fulfillment in this bond, then I genuinely wish you nothing but the best.”
Caroline’s defensive posture relaxed instantly. A genuine smile touched her lips.
Caroline: “Well, at least you’re not some zealot screaming that we’re all damned to be tormented in the Burning Abyss for our sins,” she said, giving Kyle’s arm an approving squeeze. “So that makes you cool in my book.”
Thalia: “If you don’t mind me asking,” she began, choosing her words with care to navigate the delicate social landscape, “do you work here regularly? It’s just… you were quite open about your relationship with Kyle, which given the… nature of this establishment.”
Caroline let out a light, melodic laugh, a stark contrast to her earlier fury.
Caroline: “Let me guess, you’re surprised to find the wife of a high-ranking Nighthound working as the star performer in a brothel?” she said with a knowing smile. Thalia opened her mouth to correct the assumption, but Caroline carried on breezily. “Yeah, we have a very open relationship between the four of us. We have an understanding. And being mutants, we don’t have to worry about the usual… complications. STIs aren't really a thing for our kind, and children don't happen by accident. But honestly? None of us really sleep around, not even me.” She then fixed a pointed, sidelong look at Kyle. “Well, I can only confidently speak for the three of us.”
Kyle: “For the last time, I am not sleeping around!” the crime lord grumbled, the protest sounding rote and weary.
Caroline ignored him, as if she hadn't even heard.
Caroline: “As for me, I’m just a singer here. But don’t think some of these rich assholes haven’t tried to get a piece of this,” she said, delivering a playful but sharp slap to her own hip. “They never get it. I don’t want them, and Madam Jazzy says that’s part of the brand. The unattainable songbird. It adds to the allure of the Velvet Lips, having a star that none of the customers can ever have. It keeps them coming back, chasing the fantasy. Or so I’m told.”
Thalia: “I see. That’s a clever business strategy,” she acknowledged, before steering the conversation toward its true purpose. “But what I’m really trying to ask is, since you work here and move in these circles, you must overhear things. Rumors, stories, secrets the clientele let slip when they’re… indulging.”
Caroline’s playful demeanor softened into something more thoughtful.
Caroline: “Yeah, a little bit. But you have to remember, I’m on the stage, not in the booths. I’m not the service staff. The other workers, the ones who pour the drinks and share the private rooms, they’re the ones who hear the real dirt. I just catch the odd, drunken whisper floating up from the front row, or a snippet of conversation when I’m walking to and from the stage.”
Thalia nodded along with the explanation. Since Kyle was so confident that her targets were connected to the city's elite, this was her best shot. She decided to take a chance, hoping against hope that a seemingly absurd question might ring a bell.
Thalia: “Then, in any of those whispers, have you heard any rumors about… clowns?” she asked, the word feeling absurd and out of place in the opulent room.
Caroline: “Clowns?” she repeated, her beautiful face scrunching in genuine, unvarnished confusion. The slits of her pupils narrowed. “Like… big shoes, red noses, that kind of thing?”
Thalia: “Or something related to a circus of some kind,” she added, her voice lowering, imbuing the words with grave significance. “Please, it is very important. Anything at all, no matter how trivial it may seem.”
Caroline: “That’s a… very strange question,” she said, her head tilting in curiosity. She paused, a single, elegantly manicured finger tapping thoughtfully against her chin. “Let me think for a second.” The silence stretched for a moment as she sifted through memory. “Hmm, the closest thing to a circus I can recall was a few weeks ago. We had a themed show—‘Grand de Carnival.’ We brought in a troupe of acrobats and fire-breathers; it was all very extravagant, very masquerade. It’s… kinda like a circus, I suppose. But,” she added, seeing the lack of recognition in Thalia’s eyes, “I suspect that’s not the kind of thing you were hoping for.”
Thalia let out a soft, controlled sigh. It was the answer she had expected, but hope was a stubborn thing. Still, she wasn't depressed by the dead end; it was simply one more path ruled out.
Thalia: “No, that isn’t what I was looking for,” she confirmed, offering a small, appreciative smile. “But thank you nonetheless for trying.”
Caroline: “Sorry I couldn’t help you more, honey.”
Before the conversation could lapse back into awkwardness, the door to the private room swung open with silent, well-oiled precision. The woman who entered was the embodiment of the establishment itself: Madam Jazzy. She was a vision of sharp, ageless elegance, her hair a sleek, silver bob, and her attire a severe but expensive black pantsuit. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, swept the room, lingering on Thalia for a moment too long in a silent, professional assessment. Then, her gaze landed on Caroline, still glued to Kyle’s side, and her stern expression melted into a knowing, playful smirk.
Jazzy: “I see you’ve managed to track down your elusive husband, Caroline,” the madam said, in a smooth voice.
Caroline: “Yeah, and he’s not getting away again so easily,” she declared, tightening her grip on Kyle’s arm for emphasis.
Jazzy: “I’m sure he won’t,” she replied, her tone lightly teasing. “But, this is official Nighthound business. So…” She let the word hang in the air, her eyes flicking meaningfully toward the door.
Caroline rolled her eyes but relented with good grace.
Caroline: “Alright, alright. I’ll go. But,” she said, turning back to pin Kyle with a look, “you better keep your promise about that vacation. No excuses.”
Jazzy: “Don’t you worry, my dear,” she interjected smoothly, a glint of steel in her eyes. “I’ll make certain he keeps that promise.”
With a final, triumphant smile, Caroline released Kyle, stood, and gave him a firm, possessive kiss on the cheek.
Caroline: “You’re on notice, mister,” she whispered, before turning and gliding out of the VIP room, the door clicking shut behind her and finally restoring a sense of professional order.
Jazzy moved with a fluid, unhurried grace, the silk of her pantsuit flowing as she settled onto the plush sofa, positioning herself perfectly between Kyle and Thalia. Expertly balancing the personal and the professional.
Jazzy: “Well then,” she began, her tone carrying the gentle chiding of a longtime friend. “Kyle, dear. You really should make more of an effort with your family. Neglect is a rust that weakens the strongest of bonds.”
Kyle rolled his eyes, a fresh wave of frustration washing over him.
Kyle: “Give me a break, Jazzy. I just got an earful from Caroline. It’s not like I’m avoiding them for fun. I’m BUSY! The syndicate doesn’t run itself. You, of all people, should understand the demands of my work better than anyone.” He directed this last part at her, appealing to her shared experience as a Houndmaster.
Jazzy, who had overseen the Velvet Lips for a decade and managed its web of secrets and blackmail, nodded slowly. She knew the relentless pressure, the endless crises that consumed a leader’s time.
Jazzy: “I do know, Kyle. Intimately. But your family doesn’t see the syndicate’s balance sheets or territorial disputes. They see an empty chair at the dinner table.” She leaned slightly toward him, her voice dropping into a more personal register. “And as your friend, let me offer some advice. Carve out a single day. One evening a week, or every other week, dedicated solely to them. Guard it as fiercely as you would a shipment of aether-crystal. I promise you, it would do wonders to quiet Caroline’s fears—and the complaints she shares with the others—that you’re pulling away, that you don’t care anymore.”
Kyle: “She… she really feels like I don’t care?” he asked, his voice losing its defensive edge, replaced by a note of genuine hurt. The idea that his family could doubt his devotion struck a deeper blow than any enemy’s insult.
Jazzy: “That is the perception you have allowed to fester,” she said gently. “And if you do decide to make amends, I suggest you arrive bearing gifts. Something thoughtful. I can help you select something later, if you wish. I have an eye for these things.”
Kyle grumbled, a low rumble in his chest, and stared down at the polished floor, his mind clearly wrestling with the logistics of crime lordship and domestic harmony. Thalia, observing the exchange, couldn’t help but allow a tiny, almost imperceptible smile to touch her lips. Her initial appraisal of Kyle was being confirmed. He presented a facade of merciless brutality to the world, a necessary armor for a man in his position. But beneath it, he was someone who deeply cared for those in his circle, a man whose greatest vulnerabilities were the people he loved. The depth of his contemplation now proved her intuition had been dead on.
Kyle: “Okay, fine. I’ll… think about it. But later,” he conceded, forcefully steering the conversation back on track. “We have business to attend to right now.”
Jazzy: “I know,” she said, her posture shifting as she seamlessly transitioned from friend to professional. She turned her sharp, assessing gaze fully toward Thalia. “Now, to the matter at hand. I normally refrain from prying into the affairs of Lady Yin’s more… enigmatic associates. Discretion is our most valued currency. But concerning the people you are looking for, ‘clowns and circuses’ is a rather abstract starting point. Is there any other detail, no matter how small, you can provide? It would make the search considerably easier.”
Thalia: “I’m afraid not,” she admitted, her shoulders slumping slightly. “The group operates under the motif of clowns and travels within a circus. The only concrete intelligence I have is that their trail leads here, to Graheel, and that they likely arrived within the last week.”
Jazzy: “Hmm, in that case, I am afraid the resources of the Velvet Lips have turned up nothing that specifically matches your query,” she stated, her tone final on that particular point. “We’ve heard no whispers of painted faces or big tops.”
Thalia let out a soft sigh of resignation.
Thalia: “I see. Well, thank you for your time. If you have no information, then I suppose I should take my leave—” She began to rise, but Jazzy raised a single, impeccably manicured hand, halting her.
Jazzy: “Wait. I said I had no information on clowns. I did not say I couldn’t help you.” Her eyes glinted with shrewd intelligence. “My assistance will simply be more… interpretive. While I have no data on your abstract themes you’ve given me, I have been monitoring other rumors that surfaced within your specified timeframe. They are anomalies. Unexplained occurrences.”
Kyle: “How can you be sure these other rumors are connected to the people Thalia is chasing?” he interjected, his arms crossed, his expression skeptical.
Jazzy: “I cannot be sure. I am merely connecting dots under very broad assumptions. You mentioned last week. So, I have compiled three distinct tidbits of gossip and reports from that period that stand out from the usual background noise of vice and corruption. As the academics say, correlation does not equal causation. This may be a wild goose chase.”
Thalia: “All the same, could you please share these rumors with me?”
Kyle: “Yeah. It’s probably better to have a few wild geese to chase than nothing.”
Jazzy: “Very well,” she said, steepling her fingers.
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