Originally posted on Patreon in January 2019 and part of the Great Patreon Crossposting to WordPress.

In the Prompt Call, I mentioned that:
Fic starring characters who’ll later be in the novel currently titled Found Down Below is available  http://www.lynthornealder.com/2018/08/02/thimbleful-thursday-parts-and-points/ and http://www.lynthornealder.com/2018/08/27/what-the-spell/   .

This is the third character in that novel.

🚪

He didn’t turn around.

Part of him was screaming to. Huge parts of him ached with it, whispered to him, reminded him that Dyevo had found all his jobs, had paid his rent, had bought his food…

…had taken 90% of all his fees, leaving him with enough to cover a couple entertainments and the options Dyevo didn’t deign to provide.

Mostly potions, because Dyevo ran this part of town, and if Dyevo didn’t think his Parts should have something, they were gonna make said Parts pay out the nose.

That, of course, was another problem. Dyevo ran this part of town. He ran Tayevyi Industries, he ran the BelowSpace entries, he ran the Parts that did the running and the entertainment and the black market shipping.

The only way Seyv had been able to leave had been … well, Dyevo didn’t own him anymore, but there was nothing of Seyv’s except his body – the meat parts – and his self that he actually owned.

All of the little things he’d found in the BelowSpace? Gone.

All of the things he’d feathered his nest with? The actual nest? Gone.

His contacts, his reputation, his name, gone.

But he didn’t have to take every run he was told to anymore.

He didn’t have to kneel to Dyevo.  He didn’t have to kneel to clients.

With the implants removed from his face – Dyevo had, he had to admit, had the work done so seamlessly that nobody would be able to see the scars – and his hair buzzed off to clear out the dye, with clothes that Dyevo hadn’t picked out and with a snarl on his face instead of a smile, he looked like a different person.

He’d left the name Dyevo had given him behind.  He was a different person.

He did not turn around.    Every part of him ached.  His stomach was already gnawing at him.

His knees still remembered the feel of the marble floor under them.

He did not turn around.