Romans de Hayley Bue

From Tessa’s Perspective:I spent a week acting like a totally creepy stalker. I guess that’s kind of how I usually act in a way except, usually I’m doing it for work. This time, I’m doing it out of pure curiosity for another person. Damien. I’ve spied on him a few times from afar like a creep just watching his daily rituals. I’ve been practically ignoring all job requests, only visiting the bulletin board once this week whereas I usually take a job every two to three days. I looked as far back into his background as I could but it’s as if he didn’t exist before he started his business. There’s no family information, no childhood, no past jobs, nothing. I guess society doesn’t give two shits about people unless they’re high-class. My search throughout that week is how I discovered that he would be attending this high-class ball type event. Sounds disgusting. But… I decided to meet him. To REALLY meet him. It will be the first time in ten years that I have used the name Tessa, my actua

From Damien’s Perspective:I sit at my desk reading a book about medicinal ingredients. I usually have a hard time sleeping so this is how I get myself to relax. It’s not especially interesting, per say, however my entire business is built off the topic, and I prefer to keep myself well-educated on the matters involved. I switch focus between what I’m reading to getting lost in my thoughts about an upcoming organized event being hosted that I must attend. I despise these aspects of the business world. I dislike the arrogant attitudes of the highborns, nobles, and high-class citizens that somehow have the impression they are better than everyone else because they were born inheriting these things. It’s annoying because I worked myself to the bone to earn the place where I am now; I was not born into it.As I’m getting lost in thought, I hear the smallest creak from my doorway. I’m not especially suspicious of the sound at first since I only have a few guards that were suggested by a po

I begin this request like any other. After I send the client my formal acceptance, I begin conducting my collection of information pertaining to my target. I don’t really delve too far into my targets’ background, just enough to find out a rough estimate of their strength and fighting ability so I’m not caught with my pants down. My current target is a man by the name of Damien Englewood. I go to my usual source to get detailed maps of both Damien and my client’s estates and their surroundings, paying the greasy, fat man half of the required coins for his business. I always hate coming here because he smells like shit. His shop smells like old feces, potent stagnant piss, body odor, and decay from the corpses of rats. There’s trash, dust, and rat shit everywhere. The shop is dark and always feels way too hot. I don’t even want to guess at the green oozing liquid that dribbles out of his vents. But business is business though, am I right? He says the estate layout will be drawn up with

I move through the bowels of the Underworld trading network tunnels as a shadow beneath one of the less than savory areas of the city above, blending into the dark castings of rundown buildings. The stench is one of filth, decay, sewage, blood, and grime. Nothing less than nefarious ever happens in this hidden world full of crime and death. This is the place where the scum of the world is disposed of and forgotten, not nearly suitable enough to be welcomed amongst “regular” civilization, noble lords and ladies, and royalty in the cities above. This is societies’ answer for punishing those who commit crime above, a phase worse than death, a literal hell. Guards posture at entrances within each city to ensure none of the trash they dispose of comes crawling back out. The only people allowed in and out are merchants and their horse-drawn carriages to trade, buy, and sell goods with the scum of the earth, the only real spread of economy in this asshole-of-the-Earth. This “glorious haven”