I need some fine wine, and you, you need to be nicer.

The alternate title to this entry is: "I call it my big, fat, dumb, derivative fantasy universe for a reason." The alternate-alternate title is: "I swear I'm not just making it up as I go along." And the hyper-mega-crazy AU title is "Age of consent? What's that?"

A chronology, of sorts, and the answers to a few inevitable questions. (Sometimes Silverlock makes things better. And sometimes he makes them worse.) Warnings for baby!Foxbird (she's around 13/14), creepy!Silverlock, violence and gore, cryptic references to things I haven't written or explained, angst, Theron (he's 16), and issues of questionable consent. While Silverlock is occasionally prone to angst, he is completely incapable of denial and he is fully aware of how unsettling the truth can be.

This is technically three unrelated fragments, but I am too lazy to post them separately. The parts with Foxbird take place before Blaine and Silverlock meet and kind of reference this, from back in January; the parts with Blaine take place before Nagendra's death; the part with Theron takes place before Theron gets his mother's memories, which happens in this bit.

This isn't at all what I set out to write- but at this version doesn't have nearly as much lolicon, so I can't actually complain.
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"You're up early. Going somewhere?" Blaine had the day off, which meant he would spend most of it lounging around their common room, reading, until he got too fidgety to sit still any longer. Then he'd go down to the infirmary to do things until Maddel chased him out, and then he'd mope for the rest of the day.

Foxbird loved her father, really, but sometimes she felt he needed a few more constructive hobbies. "My trial is today- I have to go get ready."

"What? Since when are you finished with your apprenticeship?" He set down his book and gave her an accusing stare.

She crossed her arms and glared back. "I told you last week I'd finished my preliminaries. I just had to wait for someone to run my trial. If this goes well, I'll get my tags."

He thumbed his eyes wearily. "Last week...that was when Lady Catherine's pregnancy went wrong. I didn't see you for more than fifteen minutes the whole week."

"Yeah, Lady Catherine and her bloody baby," she spat. "I did tell you- it's not my fault you forgot. And now a friend of mine is running my trial, and I need to get ready."

"Oi. It's not the baby's fault his mother is an idiot. And it's not my fault she earned her tags last year, so don't even think of taking it out on me. You were too young to go to trial then- and that wasn't even my decision."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Blaine. I know, Blaine. Can I go now?"

"I don't know, can you?" he countered, grinning. She stuck out her tongue at him. "Who's running your trial?"

"Lord Silverlock D'Alestri. I practice hand to hand with him sometimes."

"I've heard of him." Blaine's smile vanished, replaced with a worried frown. "He has something of a reputation, Birdy."

"Don't." She glared at him again. "What happened with Greymalkin wasn't my fault, and this isn't anything like that. He's just a friend. Besides, I can take care of myself, now."

He held her gaze for a few tense moments, but in the end he looked away first. "Varun only knows your instincts are better than mine, but it is my job to worry about you. Come here." He grabbed her in a quick hug before she could dodge out of the way. "Good luck, then. And if you get hurt, I'll make you wish you were dead."

She hugged him back. "Yes, Blaine. I know, Blaine. I shouldn't be gone more than a a few days, at the most. Stay busy- spend some time in the library, or something."

"You make me wish I'd beaten you more when you were younger, sometimes. Go on, you've places to go and people to kill, I'm sure."

"Take care of yourself while I'm gone." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and dashed out the door.
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They took a carriage to the DeLavrey manor more for appearances than anything else; Silverlock could have teleported them just as easily. Foxbird read over the mission brief as they traveled, committing the details to memory. She handed the folder to him as they arrived, and he disintegrated it with a snap of his fingers.

"You look lovely tonight, little bird." This evenening's purpose was twofold: not only would they gather valuable information on their mark, but Foxbird was forced to wear proper clothing for once, and not some variation on "smock" and "sackcloth".

Her expression of dismay when told she'd be wearing a dress had been incredibly entertaining, too. He gave her a hand out of the carriage; once on the ground, Foxbird shifted awkwardly, hands brushing over the needles concealed in her hair. "I feel like a doll." She pulled at the many layered skirt.

Silverlock straightened her hair and tugged her dress back into place. "Stop fidgeting. The skirt was made to come right off if you pull at it with any sort of force, and it's got slits in it so you can reach your knives with no trouble at all. You have full range of movement and you don't look like you've been living under a bridge."

"I know, but-"

"Shh. Rembember what you're trying to be tonight."

She scowled and straightened her back. "I'm an assassin."

"No." He tapped her on the nose, and made a few more minute adjustments to the fall of her dress. She was all knife-sharp edges and hard angles; she was unlikely to ever develop much of a figure, but the dress provided the illusion of curves. "You're a lady. A useles, pretty, flighty young woman whose only purpose is to make me look slightly respectable. You're not an assassin until you earn your tags- and that won't happen until I say you're ready. So for tonight, you smile and simper and dance and listen. We're here to gather information, nothing more."

"Boring. When do I get to kill people?" She cocked her head to the side, radiating impatience.

Silverlock laughed and straightened her head. "Brat. You know perfectly well we're not allowed to kill anyone in Lady DeLavry's home. Don't try to play me- your ears twitch when you're up to mischief. Now," he offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

"Of course, my lord." Foxbird schooled her features into an expression of vapid submission and took his arm.

"Good girl. You really do look beautiful." She would be even lovelier if she did away with her nervousness; anxiety would do her no good in this situation. His boots echoed on the marble floor of the atrium as he led her towards the ballroom.

Foxbird moved silently beside him save for the swish of her skirts. "Thank you." She looked up at him from the corner of her eye. "And thank you for agreeing to run my trial. They say you haven't taken an apprentice in years."

"It's nothing, little bird." He handed his invitation to the herald at the door. "We are friends, aren't we?"

"Of course." She relaxed minutely.

He leaned to whisper directly into her ear. "And how old are you, now?" Her eyes widened, and she went stiff with shock. He smiled. "I'll still let you bite me, if you like."

"Lord Silverlock D'Alestri and Miss Foxbird Torkehaav!" the herald announced.

He gave Foxbird a little push to get her through the door; she'd temporarily forgotten how to move.

Heads turned at the herald's announcement- and number of them weren't even staring at him. He could hardly blame them. Foxbird did look particularly fetching with that half-embarrassed, half-infuriated flush high on her cheekbones. But there was an undercurrent of fear to that anger, tinged with something like betrayal.

That wouldn't do. He sighed, more for dramatic effect than anything else. "Still too young, I suppose. Ah, well. Off you go- play nice and go easy on the champagne." He snagged a glass for himself from a passing servant and gave her another little push towards the dance floor. "Go, mingle, dance, be clever. I'll find you in a few hours, and you'd best have found me at least five major security flaws and some useful intel on Sheharen."

She glared at him and flounced- flounced, all attitude and scandalized affrontery- towards a group of unaccompanied young men. They descended upon her like a pack of hyenas, armed with champagne and empty compliments. Silverlock grinned. She would be fine, of course. Anyone could scale a wall and put a needle through someone's eye at twenty paces- and they'd be doing plenty of that sort of thing later, after the party. But the mark of a good assassin was versatility, and Foxbird was going to be a very good assassin.

"I've only ever seen that expression in two places- on cats with feathers in their teeth, and you. It's indecent." A one-eyed woman with long, heavily silvered hair snagged his champagne flute out of his unresisting fingers. She sipped at his drink and followed his gaze to where Foxbird stood with her entourage. "She's pretty. Too boyish for my tastes, but you did always prefer the ones with more attitude than cleavage."

"Now, now, my lady. You know my tastes are more varied than that. I enjoy attitude and cleavage in equal measures, when they are the gifts of a woman who knows how to use them." He gave her a leer out of habit; Ayanna DeLavrey had attitude and cleavage in abundance, though she concealed both beneath her military uniform. "But that one is still a child and, to make use of a very tired metaphor, there is no enjoyment to be had in unripe fruit."

She snorted. "It's a good thing no one ever paid you for your powers of metaphor. And since no one has paid you to smile at one of my parties in a very long time, I must conclude someone is paying you to murder one of my guests."

"You are as cynical as you are beautiful, Lady DeLavrey. I'm only here to introduce my young friend to society, and to enjoy your company, of course."

"And you are sadly as full of shit as you are of arrogance, Lord D'Alestri. I haven't been beautiful in thirty years." Light glittered off the military insignia on her shoulder as if to reprimand him for the misuse of her title. "But I'll warn you, a number of my guests are staying with me tonight. If I wake to find any bodies in my home tomorrow morning, I will come down on your Guild so hard, Azaun himself won't be able to find your remains."

"Of course. Under the hypothetical circumstance in which I were here on business, I would never dream of being so tactless as to harm a guest in your house."

"Good. Now I can introduce you to the latest additions to my retinue with a free conscience. And may I add that I dearly hope you've been sent after the Census Master's wife, as she has a voice like a harpy in heat, and if I have to listen to her much longer tonight, I may be forced to cut out her tongue."

"Not that I have any idea what you are talking about, of course, as I am only hypothetically here on business, but if I did, I would consider doing such a thing to such a lady as a favor to you for six thousand marks- a paltry sum which would not even cover my fees to the Guild for freelance work." He offered her his arm.

"You've always been so thoughtful, my dear. But I couldn't bear to trouble you with such a thing, especially since you're only hypothetically here on business. Taking on two contracts at once- even hypothetical ones- is bad form." She took his arm with a smile. "Now, there's an envoy from Ikatai you should meet- I know how you mages like talking shop. Why don't you tell me all about this unripe fruit of yours while we look for him."

Lady DeLavrey had a grip like steel; Silverlock didn't doubt that she could snap him in half without breaking a sweat. "Whatever my lady wishes."

"Indeed."
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He found Foxbird laughing with pretty young lord over a glass of wine; she was flushed from the alcohol and possibly from the dancing, and he had to pause for a moment to admire the view.

He'd always had such a weakness for pretty things.

She glanced in his direction, and her smile fell away. The lordlet said something, and she was laughing again, but then she excused herself with a curtsey and a smile.

"How are you enjoying the party, Miss Torkehaav?" He gave her a half bow. Her anger had refined itself over the course of the evening into something rarefied and sharp. It was a delightful feeling.

"Well enough, Lord D'Alestri." She curtseyed with as much formality, and kept her voice even despite her anger.

He led her to an empty balcony, away from the crowds. Rianna's Tower rose up before them, blocking the view of the rest of the city. Looking at the tower always put a headache right between his eyes; Silverlock leaned against the railing, with his back to the view.

"So what have we learned tonight?"

She began ticking off points on her fingers. "No one searched us for weapons at the door; none of the blades in the room are bound; only the main entrance is guarded; the windows and balconies are unguarded and unprotected, although the view is quite nice; no one was sniffing for poison, and if the stuff in the wine is a cure-all, it's a weak one; the upper gallery is poorly lit and unguarded, making it the perfect hiding place for a sniper; the chandelier is a summoning circle that anyone standing in the center of the dance floor could have used; you are a condescending, manipulative son of a bitch, and I would have no qualms about cutting off your balls and feeding them to the Shrive if you so much as think about touching me without my permission."

She was smiling, but it was the sort of smile that brought to mind wolves and other creatures with very sharp teeth.

"Quite right on all points, though Lady DeLavrey's presence renders any sort of security completely unnecessary. It was unkind of me to tease you, Foxbird." It was easy to modulate his voice and presence into something soothing and trustworthy; he had never claimed to be anything other than a manipulative son of a bitch.

She crossed her arms and stared at the toes of her shoes. "Yes. It was. You're not supposed to ask me that question for another year, at least." She looked up, and her eyes flashed yellow-green in the lamplight. "I trust you. I don't know if that's because you're actually trustworthy, or because you're manipulating me. And that's a problem."

She reached into the bodice of her dress and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "We can deal with it later, though. Sheharen is having a private party in Southmark tonight; I've got an invitation."

"You are a clever girl. I suppose you've got a plan to go with it?"

Her smile still had too many teeth. "I might."
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It was a simple plan, but the circumstances didn't call for anything particularly complex. All she had to do was get Sheharen alone and dose him with enough Sweet Dream to kill him.

Simple, given that the uppermost floor of the hotel was little more than a drunken orgy. Getting Sheharen alone was a futile task, but the other occupants of the room weren't in any condition to notice anything. The poor lighting would conceal the fact that he was dead, and not just passed out drunk, for quite a while.

Now all she had to do was get to a window and wait for Silverlock to find her- simple.

She pressed up against the glass; the room was warm and the window was half fogged over. She could still see the reflections of three lesser nobles as they entered the room; she watched them kick at the bodies on the floor and laugh when they received no response.

They were unarmed, but much larger than her. They were also drunk and high on something- and she'd misjudged their distance in the distortion of the glass.

The skirt really did come right off, and there was nothing to hamper her movements when she broke the face of the nearest man with her foot. He stumbled back, half screaming, half gurgling, and crashed into one of his friends. The next one grabbed at her legs, but that left her hands free to drive a needle into the base of his skull. The last one shoved his companions' bodies out of the way and got a hand in her hair. He threw her against the wall hard enough to make her teeth clack in her skull. She tasted blood, and her head spun for a moment. A pair of hands tore at her bodice.

She went for his eyes out of instinct, and was almost surprised at how easily her claws could sink into the sockets. Viscous fluid and blood welled up over her hands with a disgusting squelch. His neck bent backwards as she pressed in, digging at his eyes- and his throat made too tempting a target to pass up. He stopped screaming when her teeth crushed his windpipe.

"That, I think, is more than enough." Silverlock's magic always smelled like blood and sex, so it wasn't so surprising that he'd managed to sneak up on her in this place. His voice was sharp, but she could feel him Leeching away her panic and bloodlust. "Come on, little fox. Time to go."

Her ears flattened against her skull in irritation, but she spat out her mouthful of flesh and pulled her claws away with a wet sucking noise. Silverlock kicked the body off of her, but made no other move to help her up. She stared at her ruined gloves, and resisted the urge to lick her fingers.

"Are you hurt?"

Tiny green beads ran off her torn bodice like water; the skirt was in shreds, and her leggings were soaked with blood. "Bit my tongue when I hit the wall." Her mouth was full of the taste of someone else's blood, though, and her nails were too sharp and too long.

"That will heal. Are you ready to go?" He held out his hand.

"Just a moment." She pulled herself up against the window ledge and traced a shape on the glass with a gory claw. "There. Let's go."

She took his hand, and the room and its carnage faded away. The ragged outline of a fox looked out from the window, grinning.
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They hadn't gone back to the Guild; Silverlock teleported them to a set of rooms overlooking the river where Foxbird was able to clean off the gore and change her clothing. She curled up on a corner of the bed and tried to bend her fingers. "I'm sorry." Her hands were still wrong.

"What for?" Silverlock was sitting by the window with his feet propped on the table, facing away from her.

"I screwed up. Shouldn't have made such a mess- it was inefficient."

He laughed. "If that's all, then you've nothing to worry about. Ours is a messy profession. This time, it will turn out in your favor. Those three were expendable- not much more than servants. No one will care that they were killed, but everyone will assume they were your targets. The Watch will be too busy dealing with them to realize Sheharen didn't die of his own stupidity- and the contract specified something quiet and untraceable."

"I still should have been more careful."

"And you will, next time." He turned around, straddling the back of the chair. "You handled yourself very well, up until the end."

She cringed at the neutrality in his voice and in his eyes, and glared at her hands. Human, she thought fiercely. I'm human. Her claws ignored her.

"There haven't been Malestri in the city since the Sundering." His tone was conversational, radiating calm and other soothing things, but she could smell his fascination. It made her skin crawl.

"With good reason," she snapped. "I'm a person, not an animal. Stop looking at me like I'm some kind of test subject."

Immediately, the excess flow of emotion in the room ceased. "I look at everyone that way, Foxbird. You know that."

"You also look at everyone like you want to fuck them."

"Irrelevant. You're a part of the Guild; I'm no more likely to rape you than I am to dissect you."

"And if I weren't?" Her skin was crawling again, for different reasons.

"Then I'd put more effort into seducing you." Silverlock slouched casually over the back of the chair. "I won't deny that I'm curious from a purely academic standpoint- the study of demi-humans has always been sadly neglected- but I'm not willing to hurt you to satisfy that curiosity."

"Because you'd lose your standing in the Guild." She felt sick.

"Because it would be a crime to ruin someone with so much potential," he said sharply. "And because I like you, you little twit. I will never claim to be even remotely trustworthy, but I have always been honest with you."

He stood up. "Your secret is safe with me. Whenever you're ready, we can return to the Guild; I'll be waiting outside." The door shut silently behind him.

She stared at her hands until the bones reshaped- her claws shrank back into nails, her fingers lengthened, and her thumbs snapped back into place.

She'd just killed four men. And it still bothered her that she'd made such a mess of the last three- but it didn't bother her at all to think they were dead.

She smiled. Demon or not, she belonged to the Guild now.

In the end, that was all that really mattered.
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A scene goes here, but I'm totally not writing it!
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"I don't understand you."

"What's not to understand?" He poured more wine into Blaine's glass. "I'm really a very simple man. Very easy to please."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you lying to priests is bad for your soul?" There was a crinkle of a smile around Blaine's eyes.

Happy was a good look on him. "Slander! I never lie."

"Then explain yourself." The deep burgundy of the wine disappeared when Blaine touched the glass; when he raised it to drink, there was nothing but water contained therein.

He shrugged, smiling. The wine-to-water trick never ceased to amuse him. "Everything I do, I do to further my own happiness. That's all."

"How do I fit into that, then? At the very least, disconnecting yourself has to give you a headache."

"I don't think I'm even capable of noticing something so insignificant as a headache these days. And as for you- that's another simple matter. Events have conspired against me in such a way as to make your happiness integral to my own."

Water splashed across the tablecloth; the glass rolled in a slow circle beside the empty bread basket.

Silverlock leaned back in his chair and looked out over the city. "Don't worry," he said. "Ultimately, I care for myself more than I could ever care for anyone else. I have a very small soul." His gaze shifted sideways. "As long as you continue to enjoy these conversations, I see no reason to ask anything more of you. You, of course, are quite welcome to ask whatever you wish of me."

"I see." Blaine righted his glass and scooped up the spilled water in the palm of his hand. He shaped it into a ball and rolled it over the backs of his fingers with practiced ease. "I'll keep that in mind."

He was smiling again. Silverlock laughed, and poured more wine into their glasses. "See that you do."
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Silverlock usually hated when people played with his hair; it was his most impractical vanity, and having someone tugging at it usually just emphasized that fact. Blaine, however, had clever hands, and knew better than to pull too hard.

Well, unless they were having sex, but hair-pulling was one of the least annoying habits Silverlock had encountered in his lovers.

He'd been lying face down, dozing in a pleasant, post-coital sort of way, while Blaine played with his hair. After a few minutes, the fact that Blaine had ceased petting and was clenching his hair close enough to his scalp to actually hurt- Blaine would have cuts on his palms for that- was more than a little alarming.

"I've been wondering." Blaine's voice was flat.

Silverlock went completely still. "Oh?"

Blaine released his hair. "Did you take an interest in me before or after you started fucking my daughter? I'm curious."

He didn't need his magic to tell that Blaine was angry. He slid off the bed and retrieved his robe from the floor. "After we stopped, actually. I don't suppose that matters?" He glanced over his shoulder; Blaine was staring at his hands with completely blank features. "Ah. Stupid question."

"Indeed."

"Well, then." He shrugged into his robe and fastened it shut. "If I may ask one question before I leave?"

"Go ahead."

"Why did you wait until now to be angry with me? You had to have known beforehand." Silverlock had always been skilled at reading people, even without the help of his magic- but Blaine hid most of his secondary emotions quite well. If he was feeling anything beyond the obvious anger and hurt at the moment, Silverlock couldn't see it.

Blaine looked up and smiled. It wasn't the sort of smile that reached his eyes. "I'm sure this is hardly the first time someone has used you for sex."

"I thought that might be it." Silverlock walked around the bed and placed one hand on either side of Blaine's head, caging him in. "You are very, very lucky," he whispered in the other man's ear, "that I love you. Because if I didn't, you would not be able to afford those words."

"Get out."

He left without another word, unsatisfied by the stricken look on his lover's face.
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blah blah blah Blaine vs Foxbird shouting match blah blah being a liability, blah blah, lots of broken pottery, blah blah Nagendra's death, blah blah blah drowning metaphorical and real blah blah blah "Breathe. Life is just breathing." blah wow they're all idiots, blah blah blah more broken pottery blah blah it's not like I'm ever going to write the fucking story anyway, the end.
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(Several hundred years later!)
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"I do recall telling you not to touch the books in this part of the library." Silverlock lounged against one of the bookshelves with his arms crossed. "You haven't mastered enough of the basics to attempt these spells."

"That's your opinion," Theron snarled, clutching a spellbook to his chest. "How am I supposed to improve if you won't let me do anything but copy histories and census documents?"

"Put the book away." Silverlock sounded weary. "I have you copying histories and census documents in the faint hope of undoing all those years of brainwashing you've endured. I had also hoped that you might also learn a little patience and, gods willing, maturity."

"You treat me like a child no matter what I do."

Theron didn't see Silverlock move, but a moment later he found himself pressed against the bookshelf with a hand around his throat.

"You are by no means my equal. You refuse to act towards me as a student should towards his teacher. I'm not fucking you. Therefore, you are a child, because I don't fuck children, and the only reason I have to keep you here if you are neither my equal nor my student is to fuck you." The hand around Theron's throat tightened, and a knee pressed his thighs apart. "If you wish to be treated as an adult in this house, you should be prepared to accept the consequences."

"Y-you bastard." Theron clawed at Silverlock's hand, but the mage's grip was unshakeable. "Let go of me!"

"According to the laws of this city, I own you. Do not presume to give me orders." His hand tightened further, cutting off Theron's air. "So, tell me. Are you a child, or an adult? Be thankful I'm even giving you the choice. There are few other men in this city who would be so kind."

"F-fuck you!" Theron choked and tried to smith something- anything- but the aether slipped out of his grasp.

"Your choice." Silverlock kissed him, hard and invasive and completely oblivious to Theron's struggling, to the tiny, panicked noises he made, to the tears that gathered in the corners of his eyes.

His mouth felt bruised when Silverlock finally pulled away; he remained standing only because the other man still held him pinned against the bookcase.

"Tell me your place in this house." Silverlock was still completely composed. "Tell me, or I make this decision for you."

"Y-your student." He squeezed his eyes shut, and felt the burn of tears sliding down his face. It hurt to speak, to breathe.

"And?" Silverlock pressed closer, threatening.

"A child." Fear warred with humiliation, and ultimately won. When Silverlock let go, he dropped to the ground bonelessly.

"Good. Don't try stealing books from the library until you're good enough to not get caught." The ringing of Silverlock's boots against the floor faded, and disappeared.

Theron stayed on the floor and stared blankly into the distance. It was a long time before he stopped shaking.
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...*cough*

Uh, yeah. I'm-a gonna be elsewhere, pretending I didn't write this.

(Name that reference! If you found pieces of Steven Brust, Mercedes Lackey, Tamora Pierce, Eve Forward, and Dennis L McKiernan in this, congratulations! You get a gold star!)

City/Guild babble (I suppose it goes without saying that everything I write is subject to change at any moment in time.)

The DeLavrey family is very old and very powerful (those were enormous understatements- they basically own the universe), and Ayanna DeLavrey finds society in general highly amusing. She throws lots of parties, and anyone who disobeys her rules gets righteously smote, so there's no fighting of any sort, no assassinations, no feuding, no stealing, and no pseudonyms.

As far as the city is concerned, a person is considered an adult at seventeen, but the Census Board will recognize someone as young as fifteen as an adult if the correct forms are filled out. The Overcity Guilds (tradesmen and crafters and the like) require members to be legal adults before allowing them full membership, but the Undercity Guilds (Thieves, Assassins, Bardic) aren't overly concerned with legality. The Bardic and Thieves' Guilds have no age requirements; if you're capable of performing, you can earn your tags, and from that point on, the Guild will consider you an adult.

The Assassins' Guild insists that members either be legal adults or spend at least seven years as apprentices. They won't take apprentices younger than five and they rarely take new, untrained apprentices older than twelve. On average, an apprenticeship takes between seven and ten years of training; most of the humans in the Guild earn their tags at eighteen. People who want to specialize in something usually spend a few extra years training in their area of focus before becoming full fledged Guildmembers.

Adults with some sort of prior physical training, or people with non-human lifespans are, of course, exceptions to the age rules. Silverlock joined the Guild at fifty and spent six months as a normal apprentice, then another three years with probationary tags under the tutelage of the only other assassin-mage in the Guild at the time. The Guildsmen are mostly human- Shaivhen is, in general, a human city- but there are still considerable numbers of nonhumans in the ranks.

And, because the Undercity Guilds are an important part of Shaivhen's past, all Guild members have the right to a noble title. This requires submitting a request to the Census Board; very few thieves or bards bother with it. Assassins, on the other hand, are snobs and very good at filing paper work- most Guildsmen are lords, even though they aren't actually landowners. The titles have become something of a joke among in the Undercity, however.

They're still criminals, of course- but it's actually more illegal to hire an assassin than it is to be one. Everyone's got to make a living, after all, and the Guildmaster has enough influence in the city to keep his people safe.

A number of assassins have a trademark- the fox Foxbird scribbled on the window is hers. Silverlock usually leaves a few strands of his hair, which is really just his way of telling the authorities to fuck themselves, since he expends quite a bit of time, money, and effort to make himself aetherially untraceable. (The fact that he became an assassin is already an enormous "fuck you" to the authorities; he's something of a celebrity to begin with. I'd make an analogy involving porn stars and the mafia, but that would just be excessive.) It's their way of advertizing; the Guild assigns contracts, but sometimes employers will ask for a specific assassin by trademark. Trademarks are risky because they do make it easier for the Watch to trace people- and assassins can get arrested and executed, same as anyone else.