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Run, run, run, as fast as you can
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He switches, too. "Eat grass. I can get you some, if you want it so badly."

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"Have I ever wanted salad?" she asks, belying her earlier difficulties. "Lions eat meat, baby."

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He starts walking and gestures at a bird over yonder. "Not a lot of game in the big city but I'm sure you'll figure it out."

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She extends a thread of magical energy, which Jauhung can just barely perceive. The bird flies alongside them for a few moments, and Ariel looks it over critically.

"It's all scabrous and shit," she reports, releasing it to flap away. "Not much of a mouthful, either. I probably won't have to give up hunting entirely... just supplement it. What's the good street food in this neighborhood?"

They reach the gate out into the port authority. It's locked.

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"I wouldn't know," he says, shrugging and almost running facefirst into the gate. Which he had just walked through to get here.

It's not even 5:30PM yet.

The fuck?

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"Careful, so lou, your head's full of chrome but it's not that full of chrome."

The joke is automatic; the rest of Ariel has gone serious. She traces her fingers along the steel. "Guessing this wasn't locked when you came in?"

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"It wasn't." He enables his image link and hooks into the wireless matrix to try to figure out why this'd happen. Are opening hours that strict? Is there anything in the news? He might message Zyu Hoi.

(The thought of trying to find someone official and asking what's up doesn't even cross his mind.)

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Opening hours? What's he talking about? Port 44 has been closed all day. In fact, the whole harbor has been. The news site says there's reports of criminal activity nearby, though it's only at a level-3 alert, which is to say, the Hong Kong minimum.

Ariel's got her eyes closed, and her skin's flickering with light so faint the setting sun mostly renders it invisible. "...Lion says he's sensing dragon lines nearby. Shoddy work, the kind some gangbanger shaman puts up in fifteen minutes if he's expecting a fight."

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"...are you expecting a fight? I'm no good in a fight."

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"What. Are you talking about."

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"I don't have anyone after me, far as I know, so it's gotta be you. Or Raymond, I guess."

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"No, shut up, we'll talk about that later. You're no good in a fight? When we were in middle school I saw you break a grown man's femur. That isn't one of the easy bones."

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"That was then," he shrugs. "This is now."

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"What did they do to you?" she asks quietly. "I don't know who, but. What happened? Somebody took the soul out of you."

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He shrugs again. "Let's look for a way around." He types up a quick message to Zyu Hoi then dismisses his link. ...and belatedly remembers that other people can't see it. "News says there's been criminal activity nearby and the whole harbour was meant to be closed today, by the way."

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"...yeah. Yeah, a way around."

She'll lead the way. Since Jauhung's no good in a fight.

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Oh cool he much prefers not having to take the lead. He'll follow.

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Jauhung gets a reply pretty quickly.

no clue, sorry kid

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There's a smaller gate a little ways back, leading into Port 45. It's got an honest-to-God padlock on it, a big heavy piece of pig iron.

Ariel snorts. "Grug want lock gate. Grug protect imports. Grug get big metal lock."

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"Hm." How big is that padlock exactly, is it something he could pick with some grumption and a big enough lockpick?

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The lock's big, but the mechanism is pretty reasonably sized. He could get at it with a couple of hairpins.

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"Give me twenty seconds," he says, and he starts to work at it. With actual lockpicks. Normal-sized ones, that is, which he just kind of always has on him, for whenever he may need them.

It takes him twelve seconds.

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"Damn," Ariel says. "Grug better have insurance."

They head into Port 45. It's somehow even shittier than 44 - there's crates scattered everywhere, not to mention used needles, empty bottles and other general detritus.

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Is Ariel going to lead the way again or was that a short-lived dream?

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Yeah, she's got him.

The dragon lines come into view as they advance, a faintly glowing diagram of circles feeding into larger circles. In the largest and most central of those circles is a guy with glowing eyes, who's shivering even though it's June barely north of the tropics. Taking cover between various crates are four other guys - one of them has a semiautomatic pistol, one has a shotgun, one has a baseball bat, and one has a knife.

Glowy guy holds up his hand. "You're t-trespassing," he says, trying very hard to sound cool.

"Sorry about that," Ariel says, holding up her hands in turn. "We're trying to leave."

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