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Goodfellow · **11-05-2015, 01:41 AM**

Two men entered the smoky shop.Â They walked between the cramped shelves, crossing around the back: no back doors, no customers.Â The grey and the midlander were the last ones in or out.

One of the men walked back to the door and leaned against its frame, looking out.Â The other approached the owner then.Â He rapped his knuckles lightly against the wooden counter and spoke.Â "A man'll be walkin' in 'ere soon.Â Don't talk.Â If 'e speaks, jus' listen.Â If 'e don't, still listen.Â 'E likes this place an' 'e pays handsome, what's more."Â He whistled at his partner then, who opened the door and stepped outside, holding it behind him.Â "Golden opportunity, this 'un.Â Yessir, jus' don't screw it up."Â And he walked out the door.

A short, robed figure stepped through the door and into that thick, smoky silence.Â Lalafell most like, by the gait.Â It walked the aisles, examining the carvings of rich wood, the huge jars of dank, pungent leaves.Â It circled back around to the front of the shop.Â A voice crawled out from under the hood.Â It was deeper than expected.Â Raspier, too.

"Your books, they're in the back?"

Don't talk.Â The owner nodded.

"You know why I'm here?"

He nodded again.

"You've received other offers?"Â Don't talk.Â "Mine's better."

He walked to the door.Â Without turning, he spoke once more.Â "Both, so we're clear: book and girl."

The door closed behind him.

______________

Styrm carried Brindle from house to hole to hovel, unaware in his exhaustion, his single-minded focus on finding the next clue, eyes ever forward.Â He never thought to turn around.

Behind him, throughout the night, a man followed.Â Nondescript, quiet, if more than a little nervous, he let himself be led from place to wretched place.Â He was tired, he was annoyed, he was bored, but still he followed.Â He couldn't go back, not without something--anything--to report.

He wondered if he shouldn't try to throw the roe off, pick off the kid somehow.Â But the boss had told him to leave the big man alone.Â He wondered why, but he stayed quiet and kept following.Â He had his instructions, and the Goodfellow had little patience for deviations.

Zhavi · **11-05-2015, 01:08 PM**

Eventually, the night wore out even the stoutest hearts of tavernskeeps, and they closed their doors. The places left open -- Keepers' delights -- they'd already canvassed. The roe had amassed a collection of tidbits: information and advice both, some of it conflicting. Brindle'd collected the same things, snatching the information deep into the heart of his memory. As soon as he got loose from the big lout, he'd be free with it, and free to find Zhio.

"Can ye let me off now?" His voice was whiny and tired, just the timbre that always made Zhi's ears go back.

Because as soon as he was free, he had places to go.

Places that might have Zhi in them.

____________________

The shop owner of the smoke shop was not unused to seeing a strange parade of customers come in through his door. Nor was he unused to a steady stream of wheedling, threats, and questions. He kept his own counsel, and his wits about him.
He summoned one of his runners.

"Yeah, Eohric?" The lalafel lass' voice was cool and unruffled, same as always.

"Take a message to Litha. The stakes have changed. Triple pay, or the deal's off."

The lass stared at him, eyebrows raised as she waited for him to collect his thoughts.

"Tell her I ain't gettin' meself shived for lack o' information. Her goods got a trail o' n'er-do-wells on it, and it ain't worth gettin' me store torched. You tell her that."

___________

They was after a book. One what was more'n just words strung together. One that the bint would be tryin' to offload. One that the doublecrossed buyer would be lookin' to get back... and could use some help, like as not, from a local Limsan runner. One who had some idea where their crook-tailed thief ran off to, at that.

That was how he ended up waitin' in a hall waiting to talk to Litha, behind some other runner, his ear pressed up to the door. The smoke seller was playin' with weighted dice, was he? Might be someone who could use that information.

Then he heard the name.

Goodfellow.

By the time the runner came out of the office, Solitaire was gone.

He had a lalafel to find.

Goodfellow · **11-10-2015, 04:08 AM**

The sun would be rising soon.Â Styrm was unaccustomed to keeping such hours absent drink and more pleasant companionship.Â His weariness was beginning to counterbalance his worry, his frustration working against his dedication.Â His focus was absolute when on the job, but no deal had been struck.Â Why was he so concerned with finding Joz?Â Aye, he liked the girl, but he'd had better friends than her disappear without such an effort to find them after.Â This was the Lominsan low towns; people disappeared.Â It was the way of things.

Taru.Â

Taru's odd behavior, his own disappearance, the timing of it all and the connection to Joz, it filled Styrm's stomach with stones.

"Can ye let me off now?"Â Gods dammit, he groaned internally on hearing the boy's voice, his tone perfectly pitched to irritate the raw nerve of Styrm's patience.Â T'ells with this shite.

Just then, and with no warning, he dropped the boy to the ground.

______________

Further back, their weary, worried shadow stiffened, his body tense with surprise and suspicion, ready to react.Â Finally, he might be getting somewhere.Â

If he weren't so afraid he might have allowed himself a relieved grin.

Zhavi · **11-17-2015, 06:47 PM**

Bells had passed without Brindle's feet touching ground, and he stumbled, cursing. When he'd steadied, he skipped back a few paces out of Styrm's immediate reach. He was wary of the roe. The dull ache of his beating was settling into a more active stiffness, followed by sharp spikes of pain.

"If yer Galleon's get, ye'll not have it," he spat, too tired to curb his tongue in the face of his uncertainty.

He was backing up, preparing to run.

Goodfellow · **12-01-2015, 07:39 PM**

Styrm huffed dismissively.Â "Styrm ain't no soul's get, ye--"Â He raised his tired eyes, turning them back to the lad.Â "Who's get am I, then?

______________

The tail noted the stiffness of the scene and craned to hear the contents of their conversation to no avail.Â He'd have to get closer.

Slowly, feigning calm, he began to do just that.

Zhavi · **12-09-2015, 12:19 PM**

Brindle backed up a few more steps, a sneer on his face and his back rigid. "Oho, still playin' th' lark, are ye?" There was a distinct lack of certainty in his voice, and more than a fair share of bravado. "Galleon, only th' blimmin' scut what's th' biggest mover o' hot cakes this side o' Eorzea. Yer mind all a-twattle, or has yer head been knocked about too much?"

That he was exaggerating by a few malms would be easy to tell.

Goodfellow · **12-09-2015, 03:40 PM**

Styrm leaned forward slightly, arms wide.Â "Never heard o' no Galleon, lad.Â Not till jus' now."Â Believe me ye shite.Â "But if he knows summut about th' girl, then we oughtta give th' man a visit, we should."Â He stared, face blank.Â He did not return the boy's sneer.

"Whaddaya say, laddie?Â Wanna finally help Styrm find Kink, er d'ye want this Galleon t' find 'er first?"

Zhavi · **01-06-2016, 10:08 PM**

Silence stretched, marked by Brindle's fidgeting and uncertain movements this way and that. Each time he made up his mind to go, the what if would tether him close and unwilling to quite give up the potential that the big roe represented. Even still, he didn't give up his sneer, youthful arrogance being one of the few things he had left to brandish against a world gone crazed.

At last, he said, real slow, "if. . .iff'n ye ain't heard none o' Galleon, then -- an' I ain't sayin' I believe ye, mate, so don't go thinkin' ye done pulled one over me none -- but if ye ain't heard o' Galleon, then who're ye workin' fer? Who's payin' ye, coin or other?"

Goodfellow · **01-10-2016, 09:13 PM**

A laugh began to rise in Styrm's throat, where it caught.Â He choked on it a little as it died there.

"Lad," he croaked through its corpse, "not a gil's greased' these palms.Â In fact, my buggered luck would 'ave it, this search--this night--they've jus' 'bout made off with all of me earnins."Â The dead laugh cracked his lips into the shell of a smile.Â "Turns out, nothin' costs near so much as gettin' nowhere."

Zhavi · **01-20-2016, 03:03 AM**

Brindle huffed. "If y'ain't takin' no coin, if y'ain't lookin' t' take no coin, then how're ye knowin' her?"

Goodfellow · **01-22-2016, 11:19 PM**

Styrm thought back over those few weeks.Â He thought of Joz--not 'er name--and he thought of the suddenness of her disappearance.Â And of Taru's.Â He thought of Taru's note; short, empty of import until the unbalanced signature at the bottom, the conspicuously absent book.

"Said 'er name was Joz, and I'm thinkin' 'twas 'er what was lookin' t'take from a friend o' mine.Â Think it got 'er in some trouble.Â Maybe it don't mean much now, but 'e asked me t'look after 'er," he huffed.Â "An' I'm tryin' to."

Off to the side, a man stepped in a puddle.Â It sloshed and a light curse escaped him.Â He shut up and turned to the side, but he didn't move away.

Zhavi · **03-23-2016, 02:21 PM**

Brindle spooked, looked past Styrm, and took a few steps back even as his attention returned to the big roe in fits. At once, Brindle's eyes widened, and his full attention focused upon Styrm. "Yer 'im, yer th' -- Lalataru's strongarm, ye are, oh, oh feck!"

And he was backing up, backing away, looking as if he was quite expecting the weapons to come out.

Goodfellow · **04-11-2016, 09:49 PM**

Styrm's focus shot toward the man to the side.Â Hearing Brindle's words, his focus half-returned to the boy.Â His attention split, he struggled to choose his next move, the words that would put them back on track.Â All he knew was the boy looked scared.Â

For that matter, so did the man by the puddle.

Endeavoring to keep both the man and the boy in his sight, he responded in haste, his questions flying from between his teeth in a low hiss, "Taru?!Â Ye know 'im, do ye?Â Where's 'e at, then?Â Not with th'girl, is 'e?Â Speak up, laddie!"

The man by the puddle was becoming more visibly tense by the moment.Â He stuck his hand inside his coat, clutching something there.Â Styrm registered the motion.Â

He wondered if the kid did too.

Zhavi · **05-03-2016, 12:14 PM**

Brindle saw. Brindle heard Styrm admit to knowing Lalataru, to not knowing where he was, to being just as lost and out of sorts as Brindle was himself. Didn't matter. Didn't matter with the man standing there, hand shoved in his coat, what with Brindle still bruised and sore from the last round of questions he'd endured. They was in a tangle, right sure, and he didn't know which way he was hanging off it, trapped fly to web as he was. What choice did he have then? What choice but the grace given to him as a street rat with the most practice in one thing?

Running.

With a curse and a snarl, he took to his heels, dashing away from both men, legs pumping and lungs heaving. He might not have Zhi's climbing skills, but he knew how to make himself scarce.

He just prayed he could run fast enough to lose the roe and the stranger.

Goodfellow · **06-15-2016, 01:13 PM**

Gods DAMMIT, Styrm would've thought had he the time.Â A practiced reactionary, he was nonetheless momentarily paralyzed by the two paths before him: the fight--that long moment that he knew--or the chase, back after the boy and what he might know.

Styrm had no time to think all of this, but his gut had already decided for him.Â He'd found the kid before, but if this man got to him first he'd never find him again, like as not.

Fight.

The man's hand shot out of his coat as he took a running step forward, wet boots stumbling slightly over the puddles and street stones.Â Styrm's huge hand shot out as well, closing around the smaller man's fist and forearm.Â Styrm squeezed and the man's running step turned into a full fall as his scream raced against the loud cracks of bones becoming splinters.

The roe swung the man by his now unnaturally limp arm into a crate, splintering it, and maybe a few bones more.

He opened his fist; there was blood.Â Most was the man's, seeping out through messy perforations in his arm.Â Some was Styrm's, heavy droplets drooling out from the small dagger stuck in his hand.

He felt woozy.Â Poison? he wondered.Â He pulled out the knife and snorted.Â Poison.Â But it wasn't enough.

He sank to his knees to rest, breathing heavily over the broken man.

"Now...it's gonna be...yer turn," he spoke out, voice laboring under pain and fury.

The man whimpered and clutched weakly at the bone flecked rope that was his arm.Â His teary eyes rose to consider Styrm and they were full of fear.Â Styrm somehow felt that all that fear wasn't his alone.Â He leaned closer.

"Talk."

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RPC has moved! These pages have been kept for historical purposes