Spoiled murder kittens. Surely a plague upon the world.

She declares herself ready afterwards.

Then it's off to Darktown. The first step is to determine where it is. A brief inquiry will reveal that Darktown is the name for the part of Kirkwall resident in the cliffside caves beneath a portion of Hightown.

She is continually blown away by how uncreative their names are.

Still, underground has potential...

The nearest entrance to them is a rickety wooden elevator, driven by a mule yoked to a winch and run by a crew of dwarves, all with broad, blocky tattoos across their faces.

This is weirdly fascinating! She smiles only slightly terrifyingly at the dwarves and stares at the mechanics with interest, and isn't at all bothered by the 'rickety' part.

Ahem. There's a fee to ride.

Well, as long as it's reasonable... (It's not like this is her money she's burning.)

(It's definitely not reasonable. It's also significantly more than what the last group of passengers was charged.)

Aw. Are they sure about that?

(She could possibly make them think she's paid. She prefers scaring them.)

(She's leaking a playful sort of killing intent.)

Yep.

The youngest present is looking a bit nervous, but the others seem unaffected and he's toughing it out. There's some conspicuous 'casual displaying of weapons' going on.

"Oh dear. Though I'm quite curious why you think we wouldn't just take our business elsewhere?" 

She's resting her hand on the hilt of her sword. Still smiling, of course. 

They're more than welcome to walk halfway around the city and take the stairs. But if they want to use the elevator, they'll have to pay.

One of the dwarves mutters something about sky-addled grassthumpers.

"Oh, I don't mind paying at all. I just find your business practices a bit objectionable, you see."

And the midden over yonder is where the spokesdwarf grows his field of fucks. Behold, for it is barren and full of horseshit.

She laughs and steps closer to him. The temperature's perhaps dropping a bit, but she's oh so enchanting. And terrifying, of course. "I wonder how far you'll dig your heels in, for I do believe we're at a bit of an impasse. Will you give in after losing a bit of blood? Or perhaps your head?"

"Carta don't run, surfacer bitch. Get 'em, lads!"

If they don't run then surely they won't object when she flits behind them and starts cutting hamstrings.

Not in so many words, no. There's some screaming, though. And ineffectual attempts to cut her back.

(The Keres is making sure this little drama goes unnoticed by passers-by. She doesn't want it interrupted.)

How rude! (Of the dwarves. The Keres is lovely.)

She finishes, dances to a stop in front of them - out of easy reach - and chirps, "Well, I'm certainly not expecting you to run away. That'd be quite difficult! But perhaps we can reach a mutually beneficial agreement still?"

"Fuck you and the gurn you rode in on," he spits. "Carta's gonna come for you. You'll pay for this."

"Do I strike you as someone who pays fees she objects to? After all this?"

"Ha! We're just the muscle. You're gonna get the professionals. You ain't gonna like it, neither."

"I think someone with some professional standards sounds quite fun, myself."

"Go shove a rusty pick up your gaper, you nughumping blightspawned c-"