Tracking down The Catalyst

With nothing else to occupy her time, Dahlia made it her mission to find out who The Catalyst were and where they lived.

The stranger who had first tracked her down for information, was the only member she'd ever had direct contact with. After he's stopped by a second or third time, Dahlia had pressed him for a name and all he had given her was Thatch. It sounded like an alias, but Thatch was all she had to go on.

She still had contact with a few friends from her time on the streets, and one of them, she knew, was involved in the underworld. It was to his cramped little shop she first made her way.

It was mid-afternoon, judging by the number of lit lamps in the dim streets. They cast their eerie, ectoplasmic glow down the roadways, more orange than blue, indicating it was not yet evening.

Still wearing her maid's uniform, as it was literally the only clothing she had left after the fire, Dahlia entered her friend's locksmith shop and took a look around. Spotting the man, himself, she hopped up into a seated position on the edge of a nearby workbench with a smile. "Hey, Frake. Nice place. If someone didn't know any better, it might actually look like you're a legitimate businessman."

Frake looked up from some but of tinker-work with a laugh. "Ho, wow. Dahlia in a maid's outfit? It's not my birthday."

She smirked. The man was a notorious skirt-chaser, and a bit kinky if she remembered correctly. "Well, now, if you help me out with a little problem I have, maybe I'll let you pretend it is." Lifting her skirts, she flashed him a glimpse of her bare thighs to make sure she had his attention.

"Offering a trade?" He set his tools down to peer at her thoughtfully. "I thought you were the prudish type."

She shrugged. "Things change. You want to help me or not? I'm looking for someone. Goes by Thatch. Some kind of messenger for a crew calling themselves The Catalyst."

"I heard of him. What's your problem, exactly? What do you want with them?"

Dahlia shook her head. "They owe me, let's leave it at that. So, can you tell me what I need to know?" She drew her skirts up again, leaving much of her legs exposed to Frake's leering eyes.

He broke, giving Dahlia everything she'd need to find Thatch, then he wiped his hands on a clean towel with a smug look on his face. "So. You came in here looking like that, and on my birthday."

Rolling her eyes, she hopped off the counter to offer a polite curtsey in a soft voice. "Yes, sir."

"Fuck, Dahlia, you know I got a thing for the whole maid thing."

She did know that. She also knew the man had a reputation for leaving bruises on girls. The kind of reputation that gets a man banned from most reputable brothels in town.

"Look, Frake, I'm going to do this properly for you, as we agreed. But I know you hit girls. I don't want any of that, you hear me?"

Frake laughed, but Dahlia didn't like the sound. "I only hit disobedient girls. Disrespectful girls." His voice had a hard edge she'd never heard before. "So if you want to avoid all that mess, you best be a proper servant girl for me, understand?"

Dahlia groaned inwardly. Such an ass. But a deal was a deal, and the man liked feeling like he had all the power. She controlled her voice, speaking politely as she would to an actual noble. "Yes, sir, of course sir. I'll be good."