Outside a familiar-looking building...
Niklas reasons that these people look familiar because he knows them, naturally. And since most people he knows either hate him, have been wronged by him somehow or want him dead for some other reason, this can't be very good, so he just trots away, making sure he isn't seen. He then looks for a bank.
Eventually, he finds one! A rather large establishment, actually. "De Jong and Associates Bank" it's called - looks fairly reputable and wealthy. He heads right in, finding himself in an opulent lobby rich in fancy columns. It even has a fountain! Sweet!
He is immediately greeted by a refined, quite attractive young woman, who smiles at him.
"Hello, sir, and welcome to de Jong and Associates. the largest and most profitable banking enterprise of this part of the continent. I'm Olivia de Jong, how may I assist you today?"
"Need cash. 2 gold, 3 silvers."
"A loan, you mean?"
"Maybe."
"They may be able to help you at Personal Loans, I believe. It's right over there," she says, pointing to a particular door. "It's a very small loan, sir, and it is unusual for this bank to grant such a thing, but you can ask nonetheless. Will that be all?"
In the lobby of the guard HQ of Shriekpot...
Scott explains further, hoping to get away with at least one thumb.
"Yes, Messier Sigmund. As for associates...some horrible enchantress and recently a fashion designer who dabbles with devils. We are located at the docks. As for my thumbs... technically, the lock wasn't broken. Another technically would be that all I did was jab at the lock lazy with a pin and the door sprung open. I did earlier state I wasn't too enthused about the whole thing, so I was doing a token effort just so I could say I tried and failed. If any one should loser their thumbs it should be the proprietor of the establishment for not securing his main portal properly. Surely you can't punish someone for accidentally unlocking a door? How about one thumb as a compromise?"
Scott tries to sweat, but finds that he can't. Being a walking corpse does that to you, he guesses.
"Can't haggle with the law, buddy, at least not like that. Also, you don't really have any proof and you already confessed. Not to mention you're already getting off easy. Now, show of hands. Don't have all morning, you know!"
In the amputation room of the guard HQ of Shriekpot...
Sigmund, supposing he can do little but kill time, goes ahead and makes smalltalk.
"So, it seems that the guard has a lot of different jobs to offer. From the predictable law enforcement officer, to bureaucrats and even mages. Tell, me, are things usually calm in the city? Or do you have much work?"
"Oh, I have plenty of work. I took this job voluntarily, actually. They pay quite a bit for morgue-work, you know. And I get to put my butchery experience to use! All in all, pretty sweet. Mostly we respond to people making trouble, which doesn't happen quite as often as you'd think."
At a strange ship in Shriekpot...
Morton girds his panels for yet more exposition, going into depths seldom discussed these days.
~Oh, I quite don't mind at all, it's a very valid curiosity indeed, as neither of us are demonologists, although I admit to reading literature on the subject. See, back when I still held my previous form, a strange but quite horrible tragedy struck me; I somehow lost my livery without me noticing until later, and I'm afraid I'm not even sure how much later. It was atrocious, an utter barbarity of a malign nature, a terrible indecency most certainly. I quickly scoured for a way to perhaps avail me of this grand and peculiar embarrassment, and that was how I found a tailor who I would later become friends with. He offered me help with my problem and in doing so sent me to another dimension. It was most unexpected, I was truly expecting another set of clothes. At first I was worried about my new form, troubled that I wouldn't be able to perhaps do things as I had before, but it worked out fine in the end. As I like to say, a kind attitude and a friendly smile takes one far in this world, and makes one many friends.~
He pauses, reflecting on the events that both cost and returned his arms to him, and with them the ability to make tea.
~After coming back here, my other compatriots and friends wished to attempt the same process as I had. I had the chance to talk to the tailor, good Tailor Craig, as I would later find his name to be, and got to know him and how he wound up where he was that day. He was interested in meeting the others and it seems has joined us in our expedition, something I'm rather happy about. Trips are always more enjoyable the more friends and pleasant company one brings along with them, no?~
~Certainly. I do enjoy conversing with my passengers, if only on a professional level. Breaks up the monotony, you see, particularly on a longer voyage.~
In some room in the guard HQ of Shriekpot...
Kevin, not quite sure what to expect, just lays still, listening for anyone coming near him. Sure enough, he hears footsteps nearby - however, they pass on by, leaving him in peace. Other than that, nobody seems to be arriving just yet.
In a jail cell...
Mark, rather bored despite the jolly beaming of the quickly rising sun, tries to extend his senses somehow. He finds that it doesn't really work - despite his soul sense acting as 360 degree vision, he can't see through walls at all. And there's no souls within immediate sight. All in all, it's pretty terrible in here.