The gang had drawn up quite the crowd.

It appeared that lots of people had heard of the lost heir's ransom, and they were devouring the gang with their eyes, their mouths, their stances. Ramona thought she was going to have to be clever about being discreet and watching from afar, but this looked entirely intentional. She could just stand with the crowd.

However, once the free for all started, and she had a feeling it would soon, she was going to have to be fast.

Pressing through the crowds, she made a habit of going between groups of men who were either visibly too slow or distracted. They typically let her through. In this part of town, a woman who didn't look caked in dirt was special.

It was something she'd learned that both set her apart and also made her invisible. If she looked clean enough, people usually didn't implicate her. Pretty enough, and people didn't want to believe it was Ramona who had done anything.

The nice looking girl, waving in the corner? No, she was too innocent to have been involved. Just look at her.

That's why she perfumed herself, even if it was just with the least rotted flower she found. Made sure her hair wasn't caked in whatever shit was flying that day. Her coat was the nicest thing she owned, and she had it on at all times this time a year. Nice enough to look out of place, but confident enough to not draw attention to herself.

So, Ramona passed through these groups of men, occasionally getting a slurred come-on, but for the most part being left alone. Quickly, she was in the front, and it was up here she knew that people weren't going to just be distracted. They were waiting for the perfect moment to appear in order to jump the gang.

There was an obvious leader. He was strong, tall, even handsome for someone with taste like Cat. But he was a braggart. "It was quite the feat, back in the day! You shoulda heard the brat screamin' and screamin' about how he didn't want to die. Pompous little brat, his clothes could have funded a household for a year, and there he was, crying and thrashin'. It was a sight to behold!"

The second one was even taller. A wrangler, if Ramona had ever seen one. "Eventually we had to gag him. Din't want t' draw any attention." The third one was smaller, didn't talk as much. Whether that was because he was smarter or dumber than the other two, Ramona wasn't sure. They shouldn't be talking so much, they wouldn't be talking so much if any of this was true.

"Show us the crown!"

Most of these people at the front had the same idea as Ramona, it seemed. They were impatient, they didn't want to hear the glory story of how they kidnapped an ill teenager. At least, Ramona didn't want to hear it.

One woman bared a knife and made her way at them. "Show it!" she yelled at them. The wrangler was quick, with meaty hands, he grabbed her wrist and broke it back, and grabbed the knife before it dropped to the ground. He then threw the yelling woman back into the crowd.

Ramona's shot would have to be clean if she took one on him.

"Aw, now look who can't participate," the main one said. Looking around at the crowd, he raised his hands in defense. "Calm down, calm down." He clamped a hand on the back of the quiet one. "Our buddy here got us a real expert, so we can prove it to ya that the crown we got was indeed our sickly friend's!"

Ramona stood square with the main one, but had her eyes on the third one. He went back, to a black heap on the floor she had assumed was trash, or a homeless person's spot. Bending down, whatever was in the black heap was heavy, watching as he faltered when he threw the heap over his shoulder. Shuffling back to the crowd, he dropped it, and it let out a moan.

Everyone stiffened. The heap was uncloaked, and there sat in front of them was someone dressed in clothes Ramona was sure this crowd had never laid eyes on before. A dark blue velvet vest, a silk golden tie. The jewels in his cufflinks were real, and the filigree on the trim of his vest complemented the stitching of his shirt, and Ramona was pretty sure that it was true gold and silver thread. Definitely looked like a curator, especially if his face and fingers weren't so bloody and purple.

The gang was smart enough to not get the clothes too dirty, they could sell them at an exceptional price when they killed this guy later. However, whatever they had been doing to him around the clothes had been nothing short of torture.

The wrangler pulled out a box, nicer than anything the man owned himself. He opened it, and there sat a thin crown. It looked ridiculous in the man's hands, it was delicate and ornate, swallowed by the wrangler's build.

Silver and bronze in color, it looked like vines interlaced with each other in a round. There were no jewels, just immaculately crafted flowers and leaves with perhaps more shine to them than the rest of the crown. She recognized the leaves and blooms that were crafted into the crown: lilac and horehound.

There was no need for the curator. This was special, deliberately crafted for a single person, and that person had to be the heir.

Well, I'll be damned.

"This crown look familiar?" The main one asked. Many people nodded, but the question was directed to the velvet mess on the ground.

"Y-yes. It appears to be Prince Gresham's."

"How about you take a closer look?"

The wrangler walked over, cut the binds on the curator's hands, and placed it in his possession.

"What's it made out of, sir?" His voice clipped and raspier than before.

"Silver, bronze, and gold. The gold was going to complement his future king's crown," the curator mumbled. "It was, as one would call it, a stackable crown. They say that the boy's mother asked for this particular design, both to honor and protect her son. As much good as that did for him."

This story sounded familiar, almost nostalgic to Ramona. She tried to shake off the feeling, the familiarity. The mother's special request, to overwrite previous crowns for her firstborn, deigning him incredibly special -- it had to be a famous story, she was sure.

The wrangler grabbed a zip-tie from the quiet one and approached the curator again. Taking the crown from him, he placed it delicately back in its box. He was much rougher with the curator, crunching the man's hands together with one of his own, he placed the zip-tie on and tightened it with his teeth. Savage teeth way too close to the curator's wrists for everyone's liking.

Ramona found it likely that the gang members would not last. Their story was out, and it was sort of verified. They had something. Someone would make a move.

Why not her?

The main one was so loud, he was essentially begging for Ramona to shoot him. So she did. It wasn't fatal, but it wasn't a nice shot in the shoulder. Right in the shin, he dropped like she had killed him but cried like a newborn. Everyone's eyes went to each other, and none went on her. In the sharp breath everyone else took before they made their move, she was already going, shooting the wrangler and nabbing the prince's crown. Once past the curator, she kicked the tied man towards the crowd and ran at the quiet one.

Ramona was pleasantly surprised, the quiet one wasn't dumb. The moment she shot the wrangler, maybe even after she shot the loud one, the quiet one must have had an idea of what she was up to. It just wasn't enough. With her gun trained on him, she could shoot faster than he could throw his knife. She'd been concerned making him her target, for there was a chance he knew nothing. In her experience, however, smart people who knew nothing always know more than stupid people who knew nothing.

Ramona's last hope was that he's smart enough not to try and run, too, because she wasn't above shooting him immobile.

She pointed her other pistol at the curator, and the crowd began to howl. Shoes scrapping against the floor, a flurry of curses and hisses and heavy breathing, the jangling of coins. Many were trying to run at her, but there were enough people holding those hasty thieves back.

"This one's mine. As a gift, I leave you the curator. You come at me, I'll kill them both, and we'll all have nothing."

"Let's take our chances! C'mon!"

"No, you idiot! Grab the curator!" The man who had been trying to rally the group was shoved back into the crowd. Shots rang out, but they missed her, still it was time to get moving. Taking her leave, she went by the quiet one and beckoned him to follow her through the very alley she took to get there. He made a look at his friends, but with a shake of her gun pointed at him he followed suit.

Some of the crowd broke loose, and she heard footsteps after them. They took their shots and she cringed at the ricochet, trying to avoid the bad bounce. Turning around, she moved her aim from the quiet one to those who followed, and rang off six rounds. One let out a cry, dropping in front of the others that followed, blocking their path. She had two more rounds to reserve for the quiet one.

A rough tug and she was forced into another alley, The pull harsh enough it knocked out her air. In a panic, she pointed the gun back at the quiet one, and he held a finger to his lips. Ramona wanted to shout at him, but he was right. Raising an eyebrow at him, she jabbed his side with the butt of her gun. He glanced back for just a moment, a deadpan look to his face and his hands up in a defensive gesture.

This alley was indiscriminate other than it's being torn up. The cobblestones looked eroded by water, some even knocked out of their setting and cracked open. They were necessarily brisk, and Ramona was trying hard not to focus on the smell of sewage that filled the streets. She looked around, but there was nothing to hide behind, no door to open and no window to climb through. Walking behind her captive, she watched as he skirted around pools of sludge and trash-filled water that sat stagnant in the cobblestone cracks. Behind them, the sound of rushing footsteps went beyond their little alleyway, but the shouting queued the two of them to some other plans. It sounded like they were rounding the other side. It was a trap of an alley.

The quiet one remained true to form, quiet. Made it easier to hear that people were going to come in on both sides. He stopped midway and looked both ways, wide-eyed and with this ruptured breathing - the kind of panicked breath that shook your whole body in trying to conceal it.

"No use in being quiet now," Ramona said. Unbuttoning her coat, she reached into her inner seam and grabbed enough to reload both her guns. The quiet one stretched out his hand, open palmed, like she should give him the gun. She put two bullets in his hand.

"I'm giving you a chance here. Throw 'em as hard as you can," she said with a wink.

He snorted and stuck them into his pockets before taking out his own knife. Ramona jarred back and put her gun back on him, but he shook his head, cutting his arms back in forth, gesturing he wasn't going to hurt her but at the same time waving his knife around like a lunatic.

His gestures that finally clued Ramona in: She was pretty sure she hadn't seen him talk once. She wondered if he could talk at all. This was going to make him being her guide a lot more difficult. She groaned, but what was done was done.

Ramona moved to take a shot, but he grabbed her arm. Ripping out of his grip, she took her stance and closed one eye. Peering across the way, she caught sight of a window at the far end of the alley, on the building to the left. If she could shoot it, there was a chance she could redirect at least one crowd.

If she were lucky, the building would be vacant, but she'd be fine with just not killing anyone near the window. She shot, and it shattered. Then someone screamed.

"Shit," she muttered. Taking a step towards the scream, the quiet one threw her back the other way. He pointed at the wall, and Ramona assumed he was thinking about the oncoming voices. He cupped his ear and leaned towards it, and she did the same.

Horse clopping, and clear voices, polished vocabulary. In the distance there were sirens on one of those crappy streetcars. These were not street dwellers like those she ditched, these sounded like cops, and she had their attention.

Her captive jabbed his finger into her back, angry and pointed. She whirled around and put the gun to his chest.

"Listen, buddy, don't make me kill you now."
Scrunching his shoulders all the way to his ears, he nodded in response. Then his eyes brightened, and he pulled on her coat, running around and almost tap dancing around her. She took a step back, watching him curiously.

The guy was panicked, gaze scuffling around like a rat, breath getting quicker and quicker as they stood there. Still, there was something vicious about him. Ramona wanted to give him free reign, yet she also felt like she should kill him right then. It was possible she could make due with the crown on her own.

Reaching behind him, his fingers got real tense and he turned around with nothing. Ripping his hands through his hair, he knocked down his hood, and finally she got a real look at his face.

There was a bright red scar running from the top of his forehead down to his chin, running over his left eye, and all she could gather from it was that it was not cut with something smooth like a blade. It was as if whatever had marred him was barbed, or jagged. The pupil looked split, cracked, from the incident. His features were sharp, clawing, as if his bones were going to rip out of his skin. Shaggy dark hair making it easy to see that he was already graying, but Ramona was pretty sure he was younger than herself.

Taking his arm, he pulled her back against the wall, then pulled her in front of him. Immediately she recoiled and pushed him away.

"Not with that knife, are you out of your mind? How stupid do you think I am?"

With a roll of his eyes he flipped the knife in his hands and offered to her, but then pulled it away. He began to mime, pushing the knife hilt towards her, waiting a moment, then turned the hilt towards himself.
A smirk, then he repeated the gesture. She still didn't understand.

Then he placed the knife in both hands, offered it to Ramona, then pulled it back to himself again. An aha moment finally came to Ramona, and she took the knife from his hands.

"Give me your other weapons too, and then I'll follow your master plan." She paused, then said, "yes, I will return them to you."

He shrugged. She dug her elbow into his sternum. He offered up his other knife, and a beat stick. Ramona flipped the beat stick for a moment, startled that he had a weapon like this. Then she raised her eyebrow at him.

"You've another, don't you?"

He glared at her, but she dug her elbow in harder. He winced, and finally pulled a coil of wire from his pocket, and dropped it into Ramona's pocket. Then he raised his hands up in defense. Ramona grabbed his hood and threw it over his face, pulled him to the side closest to the group she left behind, and they were charging from both ways. They were damn close, and the cops closed off the other end of their alley. The idea of being confined like this made her feel shaky, her heart racing so fast that she couldn't breathe.

With no place to hide and nowhere to go, their only real option was to hope that the cops and crowd killed each other before they killed the two of them. So it was time to get everyone's attention.

They would either get away clean, or they'd be torn to shreds by crossfire.

"You ready?" she glanced down at her captive. He nodded.

She raised her gun and let three shots ring out.