"Kink! Oy, Kink!"
Among the boisterous bedlam of the Wench was a cry that would have been almost completely drowned out amongst the rowdy patrons, but one that had, beyond all odds, managed to carry itself to Nero's ears.
His reaction to the exclamation was less than graceful. A cough into the tankard he had been drinking out of almost spilled some of alcohol onto his shirt. Swallowing air to get his bearings, the Hyur's head rapidly swivelled around, searching for the source of the cry for several seconds before regaining his composure.
Assuming that this "Kink" was as knowledgeable as the murmurings claimed, it was likely this person would not want to be found. Standing up now or actively searching through the crowd might simply frighten her away, and after nine hours of no activity more stimulating than languishing in pubs and people watching, Nero had no intention of losing his mark now.
His focus intensified, trying to pick out the presence of the trademark Miqo'te ears and tails among the crowd, both male and female. Assuming Kink didn't want to be found, it was reasonable she--or perhaps he, for Nero began to doubt his information--was also in a disguise. A disguise that wouldn't draw attention. A pirate? No, there were no Miqo'te pirates from what Nero knew. A member of the Maelstrom? There were a few of the cat folk among the ranks of the Storm, but the uniform would be too impractical to obtain for a street rat. That left the commoners, the fishermen, craftsmen, or merchants. The exact category of people Nero was hoping he wouldn't have to sift through.
As it stood, the crowd was simply too thick. Nero had originally chosen a table at the edge of the establishment to have a vantage point with which to watch the rest of the Wench, but it seems his choice in strategic positioning had backfired with the massive crowd, as the only thing he could see was a swarm of people.
It seemed now that the only way he would ever have a chance at finding Kink would be to wade through the crowd. Careful and slow would have to do...but what happened if Kink spotted him and fled? If Nero gave chase, Kink would doubtless interpret him as a threat. If Nero didn't give chase, however, Kink would nonetheless be alerted to the presence of someone, possibly an enemy, pursuing them, and he or she would likely sink into hiding.
An ambush, the thought made itself known. The only way to do this was to identify Kink and approach them before they spotted him. It was the one time of few that Nero cursed his flashy, attention-seeking appearance; this was one situation where subterfuge was the key. If he was lucky, even with his distinct highlights, shirt, and jewelry, he'd appear to just be another ship captain having a drink.
If he was unlucky...failure wasn't something Nero liked to think about.
The Midlander stood up casually with his tankard, carefully keeping his stance relaxed and casual, and stepped away from the table. Sensing the departure, several patrons immediately swarmed over to the table like sharks competing for a school of minnows, the few seats being claimed in seconds. Nero began to wade through the crowd, his face marked with a slight smirk so as to keep a non-threatening appearance, as he continued to discretely scan the crowd. Cursing under his breath, Nero began to approach the bar, gingerly sidling and pressing his way through the crowd. Tenfingers was trustworthy and reliable; as much as the smuggler hated having to reveal his intentions, perhaps the proprietor of the Wench would have an idea as to the whereabouts of Kink.
Among the boisterous bedlam of the Wench was a cry that would have been almost completely drowned out amongst the rowdy patrons, but one that had, beyond all odds, managed to carry itself to Nero's ears.
His reaction to the exclamation was less than graceful. A cough into the tankard he had been drinking out of almost spilled some of alcohol onto his shirt. Swallowing air to get his bearings, the Hyur's head rapidly swivelled around, searching for the source of the cry for several seconds before regaining his composure.
Assuming that this "Kink" was as knowledgeable as the murmurings claimed, it was likely this person would not want to be found. Standing up now or actively searching through the crowd might simply frighten her away, and after nine hours of no activity more stimulating than languishing in pubs and people watching, Nero had no intention of losing his mark now.
His focus intensified, trying to pick out the presence of the trademark Miqo'te ears and tails among the crowd, both male and female. Assuming Kink didn't want to be found, it was reasonable she--or perhaps he, for Nero began to doubt his information--was also in a disguise. A disguise that wouldn't draw attention. A pirate? No, there were no Miqo'te pirates from what Nero knew. A member of the Maelstrom? There were a few of the cat folk among the ranks of the Storm, but the uniform would be too impractical to obtain for a street rat. That left the commoners, the fishermen, craftsmen, or merchants. The exact category of people Nero was hoping he wouldn't have to sift through.
As it stood, the crowd was simply too thick. Nero had originally chosen a table at the edge of the establishment to have a vantage point with which to watch the rest of the Wench, but it seems his choice in strategic positioning had backfired with the massive crowd, as the only thing he could see was a swarm of people.
It seemed now that the only way he would ever have a chance at finding Kink would be to wade through the crowd. Careful and slow would have to do...but what happened if Kink spotted him and fled? If Nero gave chase, Kink would doubtless interpret him as a threat. If Nero didn't give chase, however, Kink would nonetheless be alerted to the presence of someone, possibly an enemy, pursuing them, and he or she would likely sink into hiding.
An ambush, the thought made itself known. The only way to do this was to identify Kink and approach them before they spotted him. It was the one time of few that Nero cursed his flashy, attention-seeking appearance; this was one situation where subterfuge was the key. If he was lucky, even with his distinct highlights, shirt, and jewelry, he'd appear to just be another ship captain having a drink.
If he was unlucky...failure wasn't something Nero liked to think about.
The Midlander stood up casually with his tankard, carefully keeping his stance relaxed and casual, and stepped away from the table. Sensing the departure, several patrons immediately swarmed over to the table like sharks competing for a school of minnows, the few seats being claimed in seconds. Nero began to wade through the crowd, his face marked with a slight smirk so as to keep a non-threatening appearance, as he continued to discretely scan the crowd. Cursing under his breath, Nero began to approach the bar, gingerly sidling and pressing his way through the crowd. Tenfingers was trustworthy and reliable; as much as the smuggler hated having to reveal his intentions, perhaps the proprietor of the Wench would have an idea as to the whereabouts of Kink.
