A life on the run could never have been considered sustainable, but it seems that Levanter had finally run dry on his luck.

His flight had led him to Amal, a solitary kasbah in one of the neighboring territories. Penniless, starving, and weary, Levanter trudges to the welcome shade of a secluded alley and slumps down against the wall. He casts his gaze downward at the pavement, thoughts turning over to his present reduced state. This was going terribly. He needed to keep moving. Problem was, he had no funds to move on to his next destination and roughing it in miles of open desert was practically a deathwish, never mind that he—again—had no coin to provision himself properly for such an endeavor! What to do...maybe rob one of the tenements? Lift a few choice pieces? He wasn't familiar with the fences or local crimelords though...burgle the wrong place and that desert would suddenly look very appealing, compared to what the local toughs might do to him. Perhaps he could try to--

A single coin dropped in front of his feet, spinning several times then clattered to a rest.

The benefactor continued on her way down the alley. Levanter blinked a few times—shocked out of his musings. Did he truly look that pitiful, that destitute? He gave himself an appraising once-over to find that, yes, he looked every part the wretch. His traveler's clothes were worn down to threadbare rags, and his last bath was likely a fortnight ago. Hunching over in an alley must have been the final capstone to the whole 'vagrant' persona he was exuding. "How fitting" the Garuda thought to himself, picking up the coin and rolling it across his knuckles. It was easy to look the part of a beggar since he was no different than one—another victim of circumstance, driven destitute and set aside. He leaned back against the wall and eyed the passersby, outstretching his palms in supplication—the single coin a lonely weight in his palm. Might as well make some coin while mulling over the mess of his life, right?

A couple hours later and Levanter was two whole coins richer, and no further along with his plans. It was around this time that a lonely figure wandered by. The wild dog sauntered close and dropped a coin in the Garuda's slowly growing pile, but oddly lingered afterward—longer than he had any right to. The two figures regarded each other warily. After an uncomfortable pause he crouched down and sat next to Levanter, eyeing the crowd warily and speaking in a low voice:

"I know who you are, friend." The dog muttered, eyes facing forward.

"That so?" Levanter replied. He kept his voice level, but a cold feeling of unease began to seize him. He knew where this was going.

"We've been graced by nobility, wasting away in our alleys! Awfully far from home aren't you?"

"Shit" Lev cursed under his breath. This was bad. There was only so much he could do to hide his features, but he figured he'd have a few days of anonymity at the very least! He turned slightly towards the stranger, hoping the motion would mask his hand reaching for a dagger...

"I think you might be a little confused?" Lev replied, still furtively moving his paw. "What kind of prince begs for alms in a dingy backstreet?"

"The wayward kind. And easy there prince, don't bother with the knife. I'm not your enemy—rather, we're not your enemy—and you might want to hear what's being offered here."

Levanter paused and considered the wild dog's words. The two sitting figures stared out into the passing crowd, lapsing into mutual silence.

"I'm listening..." the Garuda finally said after some time.

It turned out that the wild dog—Rafik—was part of an underground network of spies, one currently tasked with keeping tabs on certain ex-patriots. While this network was in-the-know on Levanter and the events surrounding his departure, his plight fell well beneath their interest...his capabilities, on the other hand, did not! Enoxian magic lends Garuda a distinct edge in espionage after all. Rafik's standing offer for the fallen prince was as thus: work for their spy network as a provisional asset, and in return gain backing for his future travels and/or endeavors. Kind of a "you-scratch-my-back," quid pro quo arrangement of sorts! The only catch was that Levanter would continue what he was currently doing: begging. The prince turned his beak up at this, but Rafik had a reasonable explanation on hand:

"The beggar is, in a way, the perfect spy. A mendicant presence easily missed or overlooked, yet regarded with disdain or sometimes pity once finally noticed. Rarely are they viewed with suspicion. Or fear. They are perfect observers hiding in plain sight; societal runoff skimming by on the altruism of the more fortunate."

With Rafik as his new handler, Levanter was tasked with spotting and observing several key marks, and so it went. A fallen prince reduced to begging. And grunt work.

Over the next month Levanter spent his time in the seedy underbelly of Amal, baking in the enervating heat by day and lounging on cool flagstones by night. He'd furtively glance at every face in the myriad crowds, so much so that they all practically bled together! Levanter couldn't shake some annoyance at his assigned tasks though. It was monotonous. Drudgery. He worked with several spy contacts in the past, and rather enjoyed delegating their tasks over participating in them. But it wasn't all so bad! For one, by simply begging he was making some cash on the side (which the network graciously allowed him to retain), and there was a certain thrill in identifying the correct mark—of tailing them through the dusty streets of the kasbah, or gleaning intel off their private discussions in some sleazy dive. The best part was bumping into these marks in a crowd, lifting any documents or personal effects when able. By the month's close Levanter found he actually enjoyed this particular line of work!

Rafik was all smiles when he met with him a few weeks later. "Amazing work! Honestly out of all the agents we field, you produce the best results. And consistently too!"

This was all well and good, but the wild dog was awfully cheery about all this. It was the kind of disarming attitude that hid an ulterior motive. And sure enough:

"How good are you at wetwork?" Rafik asked offhandedly, laughing to hide his apparent discomfort on the subject.

A couple days later Levanter sat huddled at an alley mouth, begging and observing as usual. He had accepted Rafik's final task: a high profile hit. If all went well, this last mark would conclude his business with the network and see him reimbursed for his service—financed for the future. The target was to be a consular, supposedly evading his security detail and slumming it up in plainclothes. Honestly this was easy pickings for the likes of Levanter (he was no stranger to assassinations after all) but it had been a while since his last kill. A lifetime ago, even. was he truly up for this kind work again?

Raucous laughter erupted from the bar Levanter was surveilling, from just across the street. "At least my mark's having a good time" he thought miserably, sighing as he dusted himself off and rose to his feet. He took a moment to look up at the night sky and found himself lapsing into thought once again—thinking on the future and his prospects. He just had to remain focused! Get this last bit of unpleasantness done. Afterward he could even look at this chapter of his life fondly; cut out the sordid bits and recognize it as the stepping stone that it was. A building block in the greater plan to return home...to reinstate himself above Garuda high society!

But that was neither here nor there, and thinking was better off converted into doing. Thus, Levanter strode towards the bar with a confident stride—determined to ruin someone else's life for a change...
___

This piece was drawn by  Zephra as one of her 'wing-it' commissions: speedpaints with a heavy lean on artistic freedom! A number of these pieces depict amazing scenes and subjects—go check out her gallery and see!

Garuda are an open species by smooshkin!