[Mikhail Vashael]

Looking the young man over, Vashael nodded to himself as if he was conceding against some inner restraint.

"Alright."

The Butcher angled his kneck towards the unshaven and frantic mob behind him.

"Walk with me."

The two men moved through the crowd, out from under the splintered beams of the Knackery and into the dark city streets beyond. Passing a mound of loose hay, several children wrestled for possession of a spotted piglet before the little side of bacon escaped between Dominic's legs.
Vashael put his hands into his pockets casually, then finding what he was searching for, struck a match. Slowing to a halt, the stoic Tradesman placed a stick of tobacco to his lips and lit the end with the tinder. Surprisingly, he offered one to the boy.

"Now, what I'm proposing is a mutally benifical arrangement, mutally because you and I both stand to earn a great deal of money, but particular enough that if you so choose to turn on me, or are indecorous enough to get caught.."

He paused looking down into the man's greedy eyes.

"A reaction of an adverse nature would have serious cause to take effect. Jail food can be terrible so I've heard, a man just last month choked to death on a stale bread crumb.. if you can believe that. Slow, evenly paced bites.. could save your life."

Vashael emphasised his point towards Dominic with the tobacco in hand, then ashed red cinders onto the sunken stone bricks below. The two humans now stood under waining shadows of an all but forgotten sunset in the courtyard of an expansive yet barren Auction Yard.
This.. Butcher's voice was low, baritone with the worn grit of a seasoned smoker. He rarely smiled, but often used a gruesome and expansive vocabulary, if only to make a point.
"I don't trust you, you don't trust me, it's th' I Deal way to begin a long and fruitful business relationship, Theo.."

Vashael spoke the name loudly as if he was mocking the brown haired man's alias, or at least proving he was aware of it's necessary illusion. Controlling any facial reaction to the sentence's weight, the Vagaran let a nostrel flair slip from under his cold exterior.

"So if you want work, we're going to engage in a little enterprise that will create a bond of trust between us, primarily to prove your not a total Fletching idiot. Oh, funeral expenses are on me. There's a pretty grave on the hillside yonder bearing rose bushes and tulips that never, ever gets rained on.. you'll like it. Any good with Locks or did you prefer Fletching rosary beads?"

Inhaling deeply from his cigar, the Thief looked up to the sky slightly while waiting to see if the man still had the stones for a less then honest first night on the job. Using agression, insults and mild threats was simply a way to screen out the wheat from the chaff. Vashael smiled to himself. That sounded like something out of one of the maniac street preacher's indelicate tirades.. how did the ending go again?
And I shall burn the chaff with an unquenchable fire.. Sounded about right.