The clothes fit close enough for comfort, although he had to cut slits in the undersides of the sleeves to accommodate the bony blades on his arms. He considered the veil for a moment, then shrugged and tied it on over his mouth. It was a sensible precaution, and he knew they'd also be watching him for any signs of sickness for days.

He tried to grin at the girl's flirting, although he couldn't help the now familiar stab in the heart feeling he got when it reminded him of Jennit. She was another loner like himself, a petite little scavvie girl who's take no nonsense demeanor and playful grin had stolen his heart. They'd been together for nearly a year. It had been one month and six days since she'd told him she was leaving. He'd tried to find out why, to persuade her to stay, anger got the better of him and he tried yelling. She'd gotten quiet, pulled her gun and told him to give it up, then she was gone.

Blinking away the memories, he nodded to the girl as he walked past. "Peeking don't cost you a thing, darlin', but I don't want to waste Rick's time waiting. I've heard stories too, and I don't want to chance pissing him off."

The girl nodded and tossed him a slip of paper with a number-presumably her room in the tower. Leading him along, stopping at an elevator, she stepped in and beckoned him on. "C'mon, hun. Rick sent me to get you; we'll be headin' up to see 'im. Don' worry; you're valuable to 'im. He won't kill you." With that reassuring note, the elevator rocketed upward with him in it, another elevator dropping next to them, presumably containing some heavy object. Within seconds, the two of them were at the top of the tower.

The room around them was opulent, but tasteful. Fine woods, subtle synth-plas accents, and a detailed but durable carpet stretched out before them, depicting a scene of five figures fighting a horde of cultists from the back of some heavily modified tank. One of them wore the skin of a giant rat over his head and shoulders, a lho-holder resting between his teeth as his autogun spat death into the charging hordes, the other three a guardsman, an Arbites noblewoman, and a tech-priest. Before them, a short, bearded figure cradled a heavy gun, wearing the Inquisitorial Rosette across his helmet. "Tha's the Inquisitor, yeah...c'mon, follow me..."

Grint's steps dragged as he studied the details on the rug, wondering about the story behind it. His eyes turned up to look around the foyer, impressed with the luxury on display. The gang must be doing a lot better than he'd thought and as he fingered the pocketed scrap of paper he started to feel a little better about the idea of joining full time.

With a grunt, he mentally kicked himself back into gear. It wouldn't do to start thinking how wonderful it might be to join. There was no promise that offer might even be extended and despite the girl's reassuring words earlier there was also no promise that Rick wouldn't have him killed to keep the gang safe.

Still, nothing ventured, he continued to follow her. As they neared the doorway he spoke quietly. "Thanks for showing me up here. What's your name, so we can maybe meet later?"

The girl chuckled and flipped back her hair. "Lina. From 'm full name...parents weren't too imaginative, so you can probably guess." A smile from the girl, before they reached a door, the girl standing aside with a bow. "Go on. The boss is expecting you."

Before him, the room stretched forth, resembling nothing quite so much as the helm to some incredibly opulent pleasure cruiser...of course, the like hadn't been seen for a thousand years in Necromunda, so the comparison was perhaps moot. Indirect lighting, a warm orange carpet, and a large wooden desk...behind which no one sat. As Grint moved forward, a strong palm clapped down on his shoulder. "Good evenin', like. Been waitin' fer ya."

He Tried to keep from flinching under the greeting, but he couldn't hide the slight jump of startlement, biting back a yelp with an almost painful effort of will. Feeling like he was going to swallow his own tongue, Grint managed to gather his scattered focus.

"Can't say it's been a good evening, but it's been better now I'm here." As he spoke with what he hoped was laudable self control, he nodded a sketchy sort of bow. "I appreciate you taking the time to meet me."

Rick chuckled as the boy winced suddenly, walking around, offering a firm hand to shake. "Rick Malaki, a' yer service. 'Cept not, o' course. Naow...y'said y' saw some sort of blasphemous symbol on that pidgeon's belly?"

The gangleader was tall; easily six feet and a little extra, helped somewhat by the giant rat pelt over his head, the skin running over the skull still visible by its teeth. Beneath that was a vest and long-coat, a pair of bandoliers crossing his chest, an autopistol at his hip. As Grint watched, he pulled a long lholder from his coat and stuck it between his teeth, lighting the end with an electric filament. "I've got a few lhos about...want one, lad?"

"Thanks, but they give me th' shakes something awful." Grint shook his head at the offer. "Both during and after. Makes it hard to keep the armblades still." He flicked one of the bony sawblades loose from the sleeve, then snapped it back into place.

"This place is amazing. I never thought..I guess I've been missing out." Unable to help himself, the scavvie stared about, openly impressed, then once again gathered his wits and held up his hands, making the triangle shape with his fingers. "Sorry, yeah, he had a marking like this, circles..and three arrows going out from them, like. And I've smelled rotted meat before, but this was worse, and faster than it had any right to be."

Grint watched the ganger boss as he spoke, reading his reactions. "Does that sound like anything familiar?"

The gangleader's lho in its holder fell from his teeth, an errant hand catching it before it hit the floor.

It was a moment before he spoke again, and when he did, it was in a tone of equal parts fear, anger, and frustration. "Shite, like."

Turning around, relighting the lho, taking a drag, Rick turned back about and took a drag. "That's bad, like. Bou' as bad as we could get wit'out KILLFRENZY gatin' in from the Warp. That's the mark of heresy; 'bout as heretical as you get...it's feckin' Nurgle, an' don't you dare say that name; 's bad luck, like." Walking off, grabbing the lasgun that hung behind his desk, Rick returned with it slung over his shoulder. "You did good coming back and telling me. Now, what we want to do is...we want to tell the Redemptionists. They'll take it to House Cawdor, who'll take it to the Inquisition, and we keep ou' of this whole bloody mess. I've got a few things...you've washed with industrial soap, which is summat-you didn' get any of it in you, did you?" Eyebrow raised, the boss turned to Grint, lasgun levelled. "Because if you did...I'm gonna have t' kill ya. Can' let it spread. An' even then I'd advise you smoke some holy herbs and drink an antiviral."

Grint shuddered, skin crawling like it was going to come right off his body and he shook his head violently. "No! No, I didn' eat no part of it, I swear! I was wearing gloves, full armor, came up on him from behind and cut th' throat as neat as you could ask so I didn't even get spray...and your people burned my clothes, so that's gone."

Creeping horror squirmed up and down his spine as he thought about what it was he'd stumbled into. It had been bad enough when he'd just thought it was some upper level scheme. This was worse to an infinite degree.

"I..I did go to the bazaar, lookin' for info on the livery he'd been wearing. It took me a little bit. Heard there was an offworld pilgrim ship, but nothin' else."