Nero

Nero loosened his fist and swapped his highly vexed expression for one more conciliatory. It seemed there was no dissuading either of them. Again, he silently cursed; were this Ul'dah, he could have simply passed them both gil and gone on his way. It would have been expensive and set him back some days, if not weeks, surely, but it would have worked. Ironic that it was Limsa Lominsa's anarchic freedom that had liberated Nero from his home city's grip on his mind, yet now that very freedom seemed to stand in his way. "Funding someone who seeks to kill or otherwise maim all criminals in Limsa Lominsa seems counter-productive," Nero said, his tone still smoldering from his admittedly embarrassing outburst. "If you're willing to furnish some slipshod vigilante with that kind of information, you might as well just save yourself the trouble and spend your coin on a noose." He turned his gaze to Kink, and it was to his chagrin that he could tell that the Miqo'te was enjoying this. Two eager clients, and the terms were hers to set, for whilst Nero had been Kink's only option before, Kink now had the room to potentially choose. And the smuggler could only guess at the newcomer's angle. Inessa might have coin, but she couldn't have more than him. "And while I've no objections to an independent soul such as yourself working multiple jobs, your information will not hold much value if everyone you have info on are but bodies floating in the Strait of Merlthor at the end of all of this." In his mind, Nero analyzed the situation. What would he do in Kink's position? This newcomer was some kind of soft-handed do-gooder who apparently fancied herself as a proper representative justice. He hadn't yet figured whether or not the "I'm going to cleanse Limsa Lominsa of crime because that kind of idealistic pipe dream is surely possible in one lifespan" angle the newcomer was pursuing was a joke or not. And if it wasn't, Kink would be putting herself at risk, because surely that laughable vigilante would kill her once her usefulness had come to an end. If it had been Nero instead of Kink, he would have chosen himself. But then, egotist that he was, he would always have chosen himself. Suffice to say that Nero didn't know what "bias" meant. "She might claim to be able to compensate you appropriately, but she has nothing to show for it," Nero prompted. He leaned against the wall, folding his arms. "But I do." It was anyone's game now.

It was safe to say that there weren't many things that could provoke the fraying of Nero's nerves. It was also safe to say that being brushed off was one of those things that could. He slammed a clenched fist on the table, using his other to shove the pouch back into his pocket. "Who you are doesn't matter," Nero interjected. "But I do know what you are. And what you are is unwelcome." Silently, he cursed his decision to send away the ship; if Daegsatz were still here, Nero would have had the muscle to turn the situation in his favour. As it stood, his ship wouldn't return for at least a day, and it was too late to request the Roegadyn to return by now. No, he was on his own for this one. The new Miqo'te introduced herself, but at the moment the smuggler couldn't care less about her name. Nero cocked his head at Kink's direction. "This stray cat isn't a friend of mine, which leads me to the conclusion that she must be a friend of yours," Nero said, audibly restraining himself from turning the comment into a sneer. "I can't say that that's good business." The way the Hyur nearly spat the word "business" implied a clear disgust for the current situation. It wasn't that Nero was an impatient man or incapable of self control, but to be so close to having such a valuable asset under his thumb, only for the control to seemingly be wrested away from him at the last minute spurred a great deal of irritability in him. Plans going wrong weren't unusual, but nearly-successful plans with sudden spanners thrown into the works were never pleasant. Nero gave the new Miqo'te his coldest glare, not so much with intent to intimidate her as much as it was to try to intimidate Kink into ignoring their unwelcome guest.

Nero's grin returned, an amiable expression that sharply contrasted with his previous business-like demeanour. At this point, the situation had become a simple thing for him to play, and while it presented more risks and would cost more money, if it worked, the return could potentially be enormous. He glanced around briefly; while a subtle exchange of money in a crowded tavern was reasonably common in Limsa Lominsa, there was still the potential that someone may had been eavesdropping. A rapid scan of his surroundings didn't lead Nero to any suspicious persons...though that didn't mean it was necessarily safe. By tilting the scales considerably in Kink's favour, Nero was taking a gamble on the Miqo'te's trustworthiness. Risky as it was, there was also some measure of security in it; Kink was evidently poor, scraggly, and on the run from people she lacked the ability to fight. Nero's assessment of the situation was that to Kink, she needed him more than he needed her. And such a position was quite advantageous. Nonetheless, he'd gone too far to call it off now. Casually, the smuggler took out his last pouch and quickly did some counting. It was just barely enough for what he had intended, but it would do. As he was about to drop the entirety of the pouch onto the table, their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a stranger who had, beyond the odds, managed to shove herself in the vicinity of their table. Was this another one of Kink's pursuers? The smile evaporated from Nero's face. This was a very unamusing interjection, and he hadn't expected to run into trouble so soon. "Make your proposal elsewhere. It's rude to interrupt a conversation," the smuggler said, raising an eyebrow. His fists flexed themselves at his sides as his arms crossed.

Obligatory This is not a good haiku Refrigerator

Nero shook his head. "No one. Up until now, I have operated only as myself, with my crew, or my employees, who are naught but beggars or fishermen looking for some extra coin as dockhands or errand runners. That is to say," the Hyur swept back his bangs with a gloved hand as he tilted his head slightly, "that you're the first person I am contacting regarding my expansion. You may consider yourself honoured." That wasn't entirely true, as by necessity a smuggler needs to have built a sizeable client base in order to do business, but Nero had already taken a risk by granting Kink a favourable position in the negotiations; if he didn't have her trust (or the closest thing resembling it), she'd likely vanish. He folded his arms across his chest. Nero didn't like it, this dependence. His "company" had been operating out of Limsa Lominsa for just over two years now, and he had amassed a respectable amount of coin from both legal and illegal trade; a second ship was already under construction, one that would aid in his bid to expand. How much he could make on his own, however, and how far his influence might extend depended more on independent efforts. Finding a good contact was not as simple as providing a sizeable paycheck. While Merlwyb might hold the reigns on the city, Limsa Lominsa's underbelly was borderline anarchy. "Make no mistake, however, I've no interest in friendship or intimacy in this regard," Nero said rather coldly. If his intuition right, then the Miqo'te would be the suspicious sort--and with good reason. The kind of person for whom independence and self-reliance were virtues. Attempting to cozy up to her with his usual joviality and forwardness would most likely backfire, not to mention that Nero wasn't interested in discovering whether or not Miqo'te and Hyur could share the same fleas. "I will fulfill my professional obligations to you, just as I'd expect you to do the same for me."

For the average citizen, there are many essential social skills that one would do well to learn thoroughly. Among those essential skills are knowing how to ask questions, knowing how to appear interested, and perhaps most importantly, knowing when to disengage from a conversation that can never go in a positive direction. There are several clear indications as to when the aforementioned conversational direction is crashing harder than an airship made entirely of smelly cheese and wishful thinking. One such indication, one that had unfortunately passed over Nero's head like a gentle breeze passes over the face of a cheerful baby, was his first mate Daegsatz Traggblansyn responding to Nero's initial question with the comment "Lad, that be racist." "I'm not being racist!" the Hyur said, puffing out his chest indignantly. "Nay, yer bein' racist," Daegsatz replied. "What ye jes' said be th' epitome o' racism, an' a microcosm o' society's ignorance that we all mus' contend with an' conquer in order t' secure a prosperous an' more equal future fer all." The Roegadyn's elaborate statement--his thick Lominsan accent contrasting heavily with his unnecessarily flowery vocabulary--was punctuated by the hull of the Second Forte smashing through a small wave; an accurate visual representation of the current debate as the frigate cut through the Strait of Merlthor. "Oh come on, Satz, that's like saying Lalafell are short. That's not racist or ignorant, it's an objective observation about the physical aspects of a race of people!" Nero waved his arms as if such a wild and irrelevant gesture illustrated his point with greater clarity. "Would I want a Lalafell to be a bouncer at a tavern, or to haul granite to build a castle? No, and that's not because of racism. It's because on an objective level, Lalafell are less physically capable than the other races!" Daegsatz snorted disdainfully. "Ye hear yerself? That sentence there. 'Lalafell be less phys'cally capable than th' other races'. That be racism. An' even then, what if th' pint bouncer be a thaumaturge?" The Sea Wolf questioned, his eyes narrowing and his arms now folded across his chest. Nero's icy blue eyes nearly rolled straight out of his head and into the blue-green ocean below. "A Lalafell who can manifest aether into the form of destructive energy that can obliterate his enemies is still a Lalafell that I can punt. With my foot. A foot covered in a boot. A boot that may or may not have metal on it." The Hyur jabbed an index finger at his legs, apparently under the impression that a tangible representation of generic footwear would lend additional credence to his argument. "Th' point ain't whether o' not ye can or can't punt a pint, lad, the point is yer denyin' a perfectly capable indiv'dual a certain profession 'cause o' 'is species," Daegsatz sniffed. "And that be racism," "Satz, you can't refer to them as a species and then call it racism! Your inconsistent terminology is clouding the issue. It'd be speciesism!" Nero argued. His evident failure to come up with a logical counter argument lead to him attempting to divert the course of the conversation in his favour with a frivolous correction of the Roegadyn's choice of words. "Racism, speciesism, it all be th' same word for discrim'nation! And discrim'natin' be exactly what yer doin' wit' that fool question ye be askin'." Daegsatz growled, the features of his block-shaped face scrunching together in collective irritation. "I wasn't discriminating!" Nero sighed. As he began to speak, his rate of speech accelerated and his tone gradually grew more indignant. "Look, it's not as if I had a full, current line of potential candidates to be my potential chef, and I was explicitly denying one of them the position because of their species--" "'Cept," the Sea Wolf interrupted, "that that pacifically be the point o' yer question that be startin' this mess. 'Why would anyone hire a Miqo'te chef if they might shed fur in th' food?'" Daegsatz' quote of the Hyur's decidedly ignorant question was mockingly accompanied with a lilting, whiny tone and upwards inflection. If the Roegadyn's normal voice sounded like someone rubbing two rocks together in a fashion that suggested complete illiteracy in the skill of firestarting, then Daegsatz' imitation of his captain sounded like someone taking two boulders and dropping them on a fully manned string orchestra. The Roegadyn snorted. "That's not ev'n considerin' th' fact that fer one, catfolk only have fur in th' ears and tail, and that two, Hyur an' Elezen and Roegadyn and Lalafell also need ta worry 'bout sheddin' hair into food. So in conclusion, unless a catfolk be cookin' with their tails 'stead o' their hands, yer question be comprised of a completely flawed an' still racist premise t' begin with." Nero clapped his hands together in front of his face and audibly inhaled. "First, Satz, it's 'specifically'. Not 'pacifically'. 'Specifically'." It was seemingly Nero's hope that the infamous and ever-reliable "mundane and trifling grammar correction" debate strategy worked on the second attempt. "Oh, now yer jes bein' petty," The Sea Wolf scoffed. Clearly, it didn't. "Shut up. And second, never in my question did I state that nobody should hire a Miqo'te chef or that Miqo'te are somehow inherently less skilled at cooking at other species, just that a Miqo'te as a chef might pose more problems because by nature, they have more hair and a furry tail, in the same way that a Lalafell chef would need a box or several in order to properly reach the appropriate level of a stove." The random movement of Nero's arms ceased to resemble waving and became more closely associated with the term "flailing". "Th' way ye phrased th' question made the implication that a potential employer should discrim'nate against catfolk, which be speciesism," Daegsatz insisted. "Followin' yer logic, a Sea Wolf ship would nev'r consider takin' on a spindly pink Hyur like y'self, because regardless o' the Hyur's personal skill outside of th' limitations of 'is species, 'e would lack the phys'cal and racial inclination fer sailin' that a Roegadyn'd have." He glared out of one eye at the Midlander, apparently content that his point had made itself. Nero remained silent before despondently lumping himself on the railing of the ship, allowing himself to be slapped in the face with sea spray as if the ocean itself were sneering at him. "Fine, fine, I worded it poorly, but I think my point still stands," Nero muttered sulkily, brushing a hand to wipe the seawater off his face. Now it was Daegsatz' turn to sigh and roll his eyes. "Lad, Cap'n Vail might o' raised ye into th' fine an' respectable man ye be today, but yer still childish in so many ways," the Roegadyn said, rebuking Nero in the same way an exasperated pet owner might reprimand a puppy that had been found with blood in its teeth for the fourth day in a row. Silence fell upon the pair as the frigate gently pushed its way through the waves, the Roegadyn occasionally barking orders in lieu of his captain ostensibly having some kind of disabling mental epiphany that combined the subjects of his intellect, the nature of racial inequality, and the current state of dinner. Daegsatz' tranquility over not having to humour his captain's petty arguments was broken when Nero lifted his head and stared sedately at the bow of the ship. "Do you think Elezen became so tall because they kept trying to hug big trees?"

The Miqo'te was shrewd. "I have no intention of making you work for me without incentive. That's not how I operate," Nero said, pulling his face back and shrugging nonchalantly. A harassed barmaid popped into view with a roughly hewn wooden plate, on top of which lay a hunk of wheat bread and a roasted cod. The smuggler had completely forgotten about the request for food, but took the plate obligingly and placed it on the table. He gestured towards Kink. "Have some. Or all of it. Or don't. It matters not to me." The grin evaporated from his face, and Nero's expression had shifted from joviality to one that looked quite serious. The astute observer would note that the Hyur seemed more natural in this state than when he was constantly smiling. He folded his arms again, standing up straight. "I am looking for information, something that to my understanding you have quite a great deal of. And failing that, I am looking for connection. Informants, traders, agents, the like. Connections that would...give me some room to grow, as it were." Gone was the pompous confidence, the bemused sense of enthusiasm. The laughing glimmer in his eyes had given way to the dull sheen of calculation. It was Nero's intent to make Kink understand how serious he was behind the facade of camaraderie and jokes. "I'm not asking you to become an employee of mine. Perform some independent work for me, however, and I will promise you payment and protection. Should you require it, I own a frigate on the docks: I can grant you safe passage to wherever you choose." Nero shifted his arms, resting his left on his hip and his right to his side. "What I propose is...symbiosis. A mutually beneficial partnership. You have something I need, and I have something you need." It was risky, allowing Kink to have control of the terms like this, but the amused quips and fake hospitality could only carry Nero so far. He wanted results, and he wanted them half an hour ago.

The smirk remained on Nero's face. "Who I am matters less than what I have, and what I have is gil to keep you fed and sheltered, men for security, and a ship as an escape plan." He shrugged, and ceased his leaning against the wall, bringing his face uncomfortably close to hers, his earrings jingling all the way. A very faint cologne could be detected from his proximity as he raised an eyebrow. "That's not to say who I am isn't important, because it is. And who I am is your only possible friend in this godsforsaken city." Nero's statement exuded utter confidence, the sort that a merchant might have when he thinks that there is no way you will not refuse his offer. Whether this Kink knew it or not, she was engaged in a battle of verbiage with Nero, a silent wrestle for the upper hand and control of the conversation--and control of the conversation meant control of the terms.

Nero's grin grew into a smirk. He could recognise what she was trying to do--how could he not, when he himself employed the tactic so many times? Hold your composure, flash a smile to make them feel relaxed, make your conversation partner feel as it were a privilege for them to be speaking to you; all the better to set the terms in your favour. He did notice some particularly sharp teeth when her wide smile crested her face. Is that supposed to be intimidating? Really? he thought, bemused at the idea. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, but even through Kink's baggy clothes that did well to hide any semblance of figure she might have, Nero could see that she was quite thin and probably didn't eat very regular meals. When they first bumped into one another, "scruffy" was the word he'd use to describe her, and looking at her now, it seemed wholly inadequate as a descriptor. He tugged on the arm of a passing barmaid, harried and stressed as she looked. "A meal, please. Bread, cheese, fish," Nero quipped. The barmaid looked insulted. "This not be the Bismarck, sir," she said testily, clearly annoyed at the interruption. Nero responded by slipping a sizable handful of gil into her skirt pocket and winking at her. The barmaid huffed in indignation and ran off. Hopefully he wouldn't need to hand out any more gil, as Nero was out of pouches to give besides his own. "You can start," Nero began, turning his attention back to the ragged Miqo'te languishing on the table, "by telling me why some powerful people in this city want you dead. Because I believe I might be able to...dissuade them from that course." He responded to her wide grin with his own smirk. He didn't actually know if the people she crossed were particularly powerful in Limsa Lominsa, but her reaction would likely tell him whether or not he had hit the mark.

Finally struggling out of the mob at the bar, Nero was incredibly relieved to see the Miqo'te huddling near the table he had gestured at. Said table was also occupied by uncouth looking people, the exact kind of people Nero didn't have the patience to deal with right now. Incredibly, the mug had survived the battle intact and with most of its contents still present within the vessel. As Nero sidled over to it, he took out a sizable sack of gil and dumped it on the table. The sack's unexpected arrival hushed the sailors briefly. "Hello, ladies and gents. Here's some gil. Go buy some drinks. Get off my table," Nero grinned cheerfully, his earrings jingling as if to express his amusement. He brushed his hair back, and his icy blue eyes gleamed with positive intent. The eyes of one of the sailors, a bearded Highlander, narrowed dangerously. "Ye left it, so it be ours," the sailor growled. Not even before the gruff statement was finished, another respectable sack was plopped onto the table. Nero's grin remained quite wide. The sailors crowded to each other to murmur for a bit before muttering in annoyance, but they seemed to acquiesce to the Hyur's demands, as they snatched both sacks promptly and stood up to leave. "We're takin' th' seats," the Highlander growled, his companions lifting the furniture over their shoulders as if they were sacks of potatoes. "Leave one. I did just pay you a month's earnings in advance," Nero proposed amiably. The Highlander stopped to consider, then slammed the chair down on the table as he and his rabble left to find somewhere else to drink. Having successfully gotten rid of the peanut gallery, Nero shoved the chair towards the Miqo'te with his foot, indicating with his hand that she should sit. He placed the mug on the table and leaned his left shoulder against the wall, placing his right foot behind his left and his wrists crossed in front of his waist in a relaxed pose. "I will assume that my identification was correct then, Kink," Nero remarked jovially, his earrings generating a gentle chime as he tilted his head. His wide grin from before had shrunk, but the corner of his lip still remained upward turned.

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That wasn't the line of inquiry Nero was expecting, but he was glad that, whether this Miqo'te was Kink or not, they weren't screaming and running away. The Wench was starting to get uncomfortably stuffy. Even so, Nero flashed a slight grin at her--a feeble attempt to dissuade any suspicions she might have--and took the tankard that had made forceful contact with his chest. As it were, he was wedged uncomfortably in the melee that was the crowd in front of the bar. As best as he could, Nero jerked a thumb at his formerly unoccupied corner table and also cocked his head in its direction. "I'll buy your drink. Let's talk," he said rather loudly, his sentence almost naught but a whisper in proportion to the incredible noise being generated by the business of the establishment. The most he could do is hope the Miqo'te saw his gesture and realise that as far as assassins go, Nero would be a very poor one. Struggling his way to the bar took what seemed like an hour, and upon reaching it, the Midlander thrust the empty mug towards the beleaguered Tenfingers. "Fill this," Nero nearly shouted. Tenfingers glanced at his empty mug with a sour expression. Barely containing an impatient growl, Nero slammed a stack of gil on the bar, not even bothering to check if he had overpaid. "Fill this, please," was the followup, the smuggler's tone being a cross between conciliatory and irritated. And thus was the mug filled. In his imagination, a standing ovation came from the crowd. His grand mission of epic proportions achieved, Nero proceeded to struggle his way back to the other side of the bar, hoping beyond hope that the liquid would still be inside the mug by the time he managed to escape the mob...and that the Miqo'te would still be around for him to talk to.

It wasn't so much a struggle to the bar as much as it was pitched combat. Shoving wasn't an option, as the last thing Nero needed was to start a brawl. It took some careful pushing and squeezing through the crowd to even break into what had essentially become a living barricade around the bar of the Wench, filled with clamouring voices and drunken revelry. Gods save me if they're is stuck in this crowd, Nero swore to himself silently. With how dense the Wench was, his mark could have easily slipped out of entirely without the Hyur even noticing. The nine hours of pub crawling Nero felt his shoulder collide rather suddenly with someone's head. "Apologies," he muttered indifferently, before noticing that said head possessed some fur-covered ears. It was all the smuggler could do to keep himself from inhaling sharply; one side of him was screaming that this Miqo'te could be his mark, while the other was trying to keep some semblance of composure just in case it wasn't, lest he make a fool of himself in the middle of the tavern. Swiftly he looked at the person he had bumped into up and down. "Scruffy" was an apt single-word description. Nothing marked her--or him, Nero couldn't tell with the baggy clothing--as anything unusual. A slight bend was noticeable in the tail. Their ragged linen attire marked them as probably some poor fisherman, one of the city's destitute. The fur on the ears was matted and caked in some manner of dirt or other foreign substance. All in all, someone completely and utterly unremarkable. A slight bend in the tail. The words escaped from Nero's lips before he could stop them, and to his ears, sounded as loud as a gong. "Kink."

"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.

When you want to keep yourself unnoticed, often the best place to do so is among the largest crowd. The Drowning Wench was bustling with raiders, Maelstrom officers, adventurers, and workmen alike, packed almost to the walls, as if the establishment were trying and failing to contain some kind of people-comprised landslide. The din was immeasurably loud; pirates guffawed, adventurers argued, furniture clattered as they slid to and fro in rearrangement, slight clinks resonated with the clashing of tankards. Tenfingers had a positively cheery look on his face, even as he and his staff struggled to serve all of the patrons adequately. All in all, it was a completely average evening for the Wench. The fiery afternoon glow of the sun had begun to sink beneath the horizon, giving way to an apricot-coloured sunset. Rather than settle the atmosphere, the approach of night only seemed to intensify the activity in the Wench. Apprentices from Naldiq and Vymelli's began to file in like ducks in a line, done with their work for the day. Fishermen clamoured for tables, and the noise mutated into a chaotic cacophony, a hundred different lives all intersecting with one another at a singular point. Amidst the chaos of the pub was a single quiet table on the edge of the establishment, occupied by a male Midlander Hyur and a large Sea Wolf Roegadyn. The two quietly sipped on their drinks, their heads swivelling like lighthouse beacons, scanning the Wench's crowd. The Midlander was dressed quite fancifully. A red silk shirt, embroidered with gold, adorned his frame. Polished silver earrings jingled whenever he made a slight movement with his head, the gleam of which contrasted with the Hyur's dusky black hair streaked with fiery orange. Whenever the Midlander brushed back his long bangs, fanciful black tattoos could occasionally be seen on the sides of his face. His grey-blue eyes glittered, and the corner of his lip seemed perpetually curved upwards in the subtlest hint of a grin. The Sea Wolf, on the other hand, was dressed much more functionally. Simple leather armor, formed and fitted for battle, and a black tricorne cap were the most complex aspects of the Roegadyn's attire. The giant occasionally stroked his neatly trimmed sand-colored beard in contemplation, before leaning over the table to speak with the Hyur. "Ye be thinkin' this character'll show, lad?" The Roegadyn rumbled with all of the smooth clarity of a gravel landslide. "No," the Midlander responded casually, taking another languid sip from his tankard, "but that doesn't eliminate the possibility." His casual demeanor belied a serious attitude and a sharp attentiveness as he scanned the crowd once more, holding back a growl as he apparently failed to find whatever it was he was seeking. "Kink" was the name--no, not a name, an alias--of the one Nero was looking for. A Miqo'te who, supposedly, had her hands in the pockets of every crime organisation in Limsa Lominsa, and who had apparently crossed the wrong ones. Such a powerful resource would be invaluable of the his operations were to expand. And if Nero wanted to expand beyond Limsa Lominsa, he would need a sizable portion of the city under his control, and to obtain that, he needed information. Escaping from Nero's lips was an exasperated sigh, the latest of many. In some ways, the fact that Limsa Lominsa was not Ul'dah made things more complex. At least in Ul'dah, authority was undisputed: he who had gil was king. The hierarchy of power there was savage, one-dimensional, and merciless, but it was simple. Limsa Lominsa, however, had the culture of pirates, and the pecking order was as chaotic as the pirates themselves. The city's structure seemed, to the untrained eye, forever in flux. Sometimes it was money that bought authority. Othertimes a display of skill or strength. And on more than one occasion, authority was bought with the blood of a body that turned up by floating on to the shores of La Noscea. The Wench was the third pub Nero had visited today. What information he had managed to gather told him that this Kink character was likely to frequent bars and taverns. Nero dare not risk revealing his intentions by digging any further into Kink: someone with that much information would likely be very valuable in this city, and if someone knew he was looking for her, he might be beaten to the punch. After another minute of scanning the crowds, Nero waved his hand at the Roegadyn. "Satz, go back to the ship. Get that shipment over to Vesper Bay. I've kept you here long enough." Wordlessly and without argument, the Sea Wolf stood up, nodded solemnly, and made for the exit of the Wench, the crowds parting unconsciously as they usually did for Roegadyn. With the intimidating Satz having left it, some of the more belligerent patrons attempted to appropriate Nero's table, and they were met with a boot slamming on its surface and a sharp glare. Muttering, they wandered off. The only identifying features Nero had garnered on Kink was that she was a Miqo'te--what clan had not been made clear to him--and a distinct "kink" on her tail, hence the name. Such a detail would be hard to spot in the busy crowds, but that wasn't about to stop him from trying, as he held up the tankard again and peered over the brim to glance into the crowds. If I'm lucky, she'll be looking for a table and run into mine, a sardonic thought wafted through the Hyur's head. As if he would be so fortunate.

I swear, I really did roll 18s in every stat, it's a weird coincidence! This is a fun idea, I'll take a crack at it. I'm assuming there are no maximum point limits, yeah? Strength: 13 -- Nero's not physically weak; he can throw solid punches and wield a heavy axe with a reasonable amount of skill. He's quite proficient in a fight, but he lacks the physical conditioning that a soldier might have; for him, fights are generally nasty and are over in a few minutes. Constitution: 10 -- While capable of taking a hit, if the situation has deteriorated to where Nero is taking multiple wounds, he is more likely to run away than to prolong a losing fight. Experience has granted him the ability to run hard and fast, a useful skill for escaping and losing a pursuer in convoluted city streets, but not as good for running cross country. Dexterity: 3 -- He can't use a bow. He just can't. The weapon completely defies him. And while he is good at navigating and running through city streets, and will use less conventional exits like windows or rooftops, watching Nero do parkour is like watching a drunk cat trying to navigate an obstacle course. Intelligence: 16 -- "Shrewd" would be the appropriate word. Nero is also skilled in thaumaturgy and has good business sense, while also being able to quickly and critically analyze situations in a pinch. Wisdom: 13 -- While his actual perceptive senses are not much sharper than an average Hyur, Nero's intuition--his "gut feeling"--is generally quite accurate, and he will adhere to said gut feeling fairly reflexively. He is also fairly perceptive at reading people. Charisma: 17 -- With a flashy appearance that screams "pay attention to me" and a tongue that is as silver as it is sharp, Nero is very good at adapting his personality to whoever he happens to be dealing with. A natural people person who loves having the spotlight, he prefers to charm or lie his way through situations through physical confrontation. And there are few things he appreciates more than grandiloquent loquaciousness.

To call the sight "sorry" would be to say that a rampaging Morbol at a wedding was a mildly unwelcome presence. The sight in question was that of a Roegadyn and a Hyur collectively slumped on a table like used napkins that had been left after a banquet. The Sea Wolf's mint green skin had adopted a worringly pale pallor, while the Hyur's face glowed with a flushed hue that could not have signified intoxication more unless a bottle-shaped sign constructed of fiery letters were suspended above his head. The Drowning Wench was unusually quiet that night, and Tenfingers, the proprietor, was nowhere to be seen, leaving nary a soul in sight. The moon shone high in the sky, its argent gleam contrasting with the warm pub lights, and the sound of the sea lapping at the docks carried gently through the mostly empty establishment. The vacancy was something of an anomaly, as Limsa Lominsa's most popular pub could, under normal circumstances, only truly be considered "empty" when there are one or more dead or unconscious bodies in it. As it happened, not only were there no dead or unconscious bodies (that could be seen, anyway) but the furniture was intact as well. Several bottles lay strewn around the pair's table, a clear enough hint at the revelry that had taken place, and a wordless explanation for their undignified position. Occasionally, something between a groan and a sigh would be traded between the two, with the Hyur's resembling a blacksmith's bellows and the Roegadyn's resembling the same pair of bellows but with a particularly loud bag of rocks stuck inside it. Their exhalations and variations thereof were the most significant communication the pair had traded with one another in what felt like years. One of the bottles rolled off the table and clattered to the floor, another unfortunate casualty of the festivities. The noise provoked a jolt of movement from the Hyur, who lethargically lifted his head to scan his surroundings. A tarnished pair of elaborate earrings jingled as his head moved, with bloodshot eyes the colour of ice slowly attempted to remember how to properly perceive an environment. "Mayhaps....I spent too much, Satz..." Nero wheezed. With both hands he held his head, soot black bangs crested with streaks of orange falling around his face. The Roegadyn provided his valuable insight to the Hyur's statement by promptly falling off the chair with a mighty thud that would have squashed a steel ingot. A rumble escaped the Sea Wolf's lips that at this point sounded more like an extended grunt than a groan or a sigh. "Ye have....nev'r been one t' hold back..." Every word the giant uttered seemed to take a titanic amount of effort. The corner of Nero's lips struggled to form some semblance of a grin. "Because...we could all be dead tomorrow, and we have...to spend that time well...or something.." The silence that followed indicated that philosophy was not welcome in the current situation. "I...I may be dead right now...tell Garalt that 'e still owes me money..." Another heave of the rock-filled bellows resonated from beneath the table. "Ooh, a century be too long 'fore I see the Wench's floor again..." Satz rolled over like a log, the Roegadyn's blocklike face resting squarely on a floor tile. "Have..have you ever thought about that?" Nero asked, one hand still holding up his head as the other hand fished around in his pockets for nothing in particular. "I'm not inna position t' be thinkin' about anything 'sides me impending demise...." came the response which Nero either ignored or didn't register, with the latter being more likely. "Why...why does Tenfingers call this place the 'Drowning Wench'? I mean, has...has he drowned a wench before?" "Yer too loud..." the floor complained. Nero lay the side of his head onto the roughly cut wood of the table, staring out of the pub's entrance, his earrings jingling once again and his eyes blearily opening and closing like they had temporarily forgotten how to blink and were trying to recall the motion from muscle memory. "Did a wench once drink so much here that...she drowned? Why would...why would you name your pub after that?" The Hyur's bizarre inquiry to nobody in particular continued. "Wouldn't that...be like naming a smithy 'The apprentice who burned to death inside the forge'..?" "Lad, right now yer voice be as pleasant as th' sound o' coeurls mating," was Satz' contribution to the incredibly fascinating question. "Did the...the wench drown inside the building? On the building? Around it?" Nero flopped his arms over the side of the table where they dangled like vines. "Was it really a wench? Maybe it was a barmaid or a fishmonger's daughter..." "'E prob'ly named it after 'is wife.." The Sea Wolf's voice had evolved from rocks in a bellow to rocks being smashed together. The deliberate opening and closing of Nero's eyelids took ten long seconds. "...Tenfingers has a wife?" Another groan emerged from the floor. The night continued.

Seeing as how time in MMOs tends to advance pretty slowly, I generally just follow the timeline of the story and adjust accordingly, with the "current time" generally being whatever year the story line is currently caught up to. Sometimes this is stretched for convenience's sake when engaging in multiple RP storylines--having, say, five different adventures taking place in the span of about two weeks would be fairly ridiculous--but otherwise it seems pretty cut and dry to me.

This is exactly the sort of idea on philosophy I was planning to post, but I scrapped it in my earlier post out of a desire to keep things on track. Still, though, it's an interesting discussion. How do we define altruism or righteousness? Is it "good" to forsake the benefit to the many because of the value of the few? But on the other hand, would it also be considered "good" to benefit others, even against their will? Do we, as single individuals with no hint of omniscience, have the moral right to make a decision with which we will not understand the full consequences? Making the wish "I wish everyone would cooperate and understand one another" is essentially just brainwashing. Wishing for an end to hunger or poverty has extraordinary consequences that might do more harm in the long run. Anyway, this topic is debatably worth an entirely different thread on its own, but I'm glad someone else brought it up. It's something to think about.

You people are so kind and good-hearted! You all make me sick! Jokes aside though, this is a pretty fascinating spectrum of answers. The majority are well meaning enough that they wouldn't consider such a thing, or are otherwise reasonably skeptical of wishes to refuse them. Beyond that, some people believe in the virtues of hard work and attaining something through your own effort, and a wish that negates that effort is seen as having no value. The journey is more valuable than the destination, as it were. Some people would sacrifice themselves for the benefit of their peers, which is quite selfless. There are some characters who believe in "for the benefit of all" and wouldn't hesitate to use the wishes. I was this close to typing out some long-winded malarkey on philosophy and the nature of morality and altruism, blah blah blah, but I'll just thank the people who gave this prompt a bit of thought. The answers are really interesting.

Hmm. Let's go with "yes"; let's test how far people's masochism goes. What I find interesting about the premise you followed up your counter-question with is that given the opportunity to have (for all intents and purposes) a foolproof and loophole free way to grant your loved one happiness, you don't give her the happiness as much as you grant the the opportunity to be happy. An opportunity that, however slim, has the possibility of backfiring or going wrong. Would your character not wish for something a bit more permanent, even if that meant harming himself even more?

...must inflict harm on the individual they care about the most. Apologies if the title ellipses seemed needlessly dramatic, but the subject line for threads was too short, and I couldn't think of a way to condense it properly. @_@ Anyway, it's a slow Wednesday for me, so I figured I'd try my hand at a character development prompt thing (wow such eloquence). This is a pretty generic one as far as prompts go, but it might be fun for some people to do. For the sake of simplicity, harm inflicted should be roughly proportional to the other two wishes. Example: "I wish for a sandwich and a single sunny day" can be followed up with "I wish stubs their toe particularly hard." Conversely, "I wish for immortality and infinite riches" should be followed up with "I wish suffers torment for eternity," or something along those lines. Harm does not need to be purely physical or mental, so long as it is unambiguously detrimental. "I wish loses all of their worldly wealth", or "I wish loses all of their skill in " would be applicable. If your character, for whatever reason, has multiple "people s/he cares for most", then they will have to choose among them. For selfish, sociopathic, or narcissistic characters, the third wish must inflict harm on themselves. This also applies to characters who are isolationists or characters who otherwise have no person who could be defined as the one your character cares about most. Also, no loopholes or paradoxes. Anyway, the purpose of this prompt is less about the actual wishes, and more about answering a few of the following questions. EDIT--Alternate Premise: Your character must make two wishes that harm themselves, but may grant the benefits of the third wish to someone else. Bring out the masochists! -Would your character use the wishes to begin with? If yes, how would they justify it? If no, would your character feel regretful of not taking the wishes in the future? -What would your character wish for? Is there anything they believe worth sacrificing or harming themselves or others for? Does your character believe in ideals? Does your character hold their goals above the wellbeing of those they care about? What does your character value? Why would they obtain it through a wish, rather than traditional means? -Does your character believe that the ends justify the means? If yes, when? If no, do they believe that good results from contemptible methods have no value, regardless of the circumstances? Why? -Does your character believe that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few? Would they make large wishes for the fortune of all, sacrificing the few for the many, or small wishes for the sake of their loved one's health? For selfish characters, do they believe that their own wellbeing and health comes before other personal advancements such as wealth or social status? -How would your character contend with the knowledge of what they are responsible for? How does your character cope with guilt or loss? How do they react to the injury or damage that their loved one, or they themselves, must endure? -What harm would they inflict, and why? Would they make the harm mild but lasting, so as to minimise the effects, or intense and instant so that it is over quickly? What aspects about their lives or the lives of others do they consider expendable?

Yes. They also sit next to your bed, lean 3 inches from your face, and go "Hey!" "Hey!" "Hey!" until you wake up and feed them. Well, what I do with my cat is chase him with a spray bottle whilst screaming at the top of my lungs "I AM THE GOD OF THUNDER!" I imagine such behaviour probably wouldn't work as well on Miqo'te. .......or would it?

If you have control over a body part, why couldn't you use it to point, or hit someone with it? Are you saying that miqo'te don't have full control over their tails? It just seems a bit silly to me, but I guess to each their own. (just to reiterate, no one has really claimed miqo'te tails are prehensile if we're going by the definition of 'able to grasp something' ) The image of a Miqo'te having a prehensile tail that can grab things is hilarious to me, like a Miqo'te monk wielding a third pugilist glove. Three Talon fighting style, go! On the topic at hand, though, I was always under the impression that Miqo'te were more or less Hyur with some minor cat-like physical traits like the already aforementioned keener senses, night vision, agility and balance with the tail, etc. I'm not sure how much I believe them having cat-like behaviour too. Would Miqo'te knock over vases and stuff to get attention, too?

"Mmmhhmppm!" Nero glanced at the source of the noise in irritation. The Highlander had woken up and started struggling against his bonds, the chair making a rhythmic clack clack clack against the floor. Casually, the Midlander smuggler walked to the other side of the room and with his foot, shoved the chair-bound Highlander over. While the tall Hyur continued to struggle, at least the chair had stopped making that insidious clacking noise. "Bit of a noisy sort, your bodyguard." Nero remarked. "He ought to learn to relax a bit. Take life slowly, you know?" At the back of the room, bound to another chair, was a middle-aged Lalafell garbed in gaudy clothing and jewelry that indicated his status as a wealthy merchant. Unlike the Highlander, the Lalafell was the picture of calm, as if expecting himself to be teleported to the security of his estate at any moment. Nero and the Lalafell stared at one another in a long silence that was punctuated by the occasional shuffling of the Highlander. Finally, the Hyur sighed. "You're making this much harder than it has to be." Nero exhaled, the exasperation showing on his voice. He tousled his hair briefly with one hand, placing the other on his hip. "You know, the fact that we're both doing something technically illegal is supposed to make this easy. Surrender full control of the route to me, and I'll pay you a stipend. Nobody else has to know. There is absolutely nothing you will lose from this besides a single route out of fifty. Besides maybe a bit of pride and a few hundred thousand gil." He paused, expecting a reaction. When none came, he knelt down to the Lalafell's level, his earrings jingling softly. A cocky grin curled the corner of Nero's lip. "Give me this one route, and you'll get to go home safe and sound, and I'll be able to go to the Bismarck in time to make my reservation." "I will not condone the trade of illicit goods," the Lalafell wheezed in a somewhat hollow voice, as if he were reading off a script. Nero snorted derisively in response, standing up, his cordial expression replaced by a sneer of utter contempt. "I'm fairly certain your bosses in the Syndicate ship more illicit product in a day than I do in a year. Please don't try to defend this on moral grounds, I can only take so much hypocrisy in one sitting before having an allergic reaction." His face evaporating back into an eerily cheery smile, he spread his arms dramatically. "And need I remind you of exactly how much product you were stealing from your employer with that route? I mean, I could have just sold the info to them, but being the paragon of generosity that I am.." A soft bump was heard as the Highlander apparently made contact with the wall during his struggle. Nero rolled his eyes. "Stop struggling, you're only going to hurt yourself." It seemed to work, for the noises of the Highlander's epic struggle with the ropes and the chair ceased. Turning his attention back to the Lalafell, Nero crossed his arms, icy blue eyes gazing directly at his captive. "Well, if you won't accept my very generous offer, maybe I'll just let our mutual friend Pepesha accept it." At the mention of that name, the eyes of the middle-aged Lalafell widened, seemingly synchronised with the widening of the Hyur's grin. "After a judicious application of persuasive force, obviously." The Lalafell seemed to freeze, but beyond that made no reaction for several long seconds of quiet, a habit that Nero was getting rather tired of. Nero's grin drooped slightly, an eyebrow furrowing. "What I'm saying is that I'm going to hit her. A lot. As in, with my hand. Shaped like this." He held up a fist. "And it's probably going to hurt a lot. Unless you turned her into an iron golem or something. In which case the joke would be on me. You know, I wouldn't even be mad if that happened." The Lalafell did not appear amused by the idea. Nero sighed again. "Look, friend, really, one of three things are going to happen before this day is over. One," his mouth spread into another Cheshire-esque smile of faux affability and he clasped his hands together,"you accept my proposal and we all go home happy. Two, I throw your body," the Hyur jabbed a thumb at a nearby window, "out of that architectural orifice, and lean on your pretty daughter until she accepts my proposal. Or falls madly in love with me. One of the two." He paused. "The third is that I get bored and forget about you. Maybe take a week off in Costa del Sol. Then I consider early retirement and spend the rest of my days being fanned by lovely Miqo'te girls in colorful swimwear." Nero sighed wistfully, then glanced at the Lalafell, his hands on his hips again. "Between you and me, that's the most unlikely one." Another long silence, hopefully the last of many, passed until the Lalafell croaked out an answer. "How do I know you aren't going to sell me out anyway?" Sensing that the Lalafell was close to caving, Nero's expression lit up into one of glee, and performed a mocking bow to his captive. "You have my word as a liar, scoundrel, smuggler, and honest-to-gods good for nothing ruffian," the Hyur announced dramatically. With a smile still cresting his face, Nero tilted his head towards the Lalafell. "By which I mean, you don't. But it's not as if you have a choice now, do you?" "And my daughter?" the Lalafell's voice had broken down into a whisper. "Will remain safe and sound...probably. If you cause trouble for me, we'll need to have a little chat with her. And her husband." The Hyur had no intention of doing any lasting harm to Pepesha or her husband--his information said that the couple had a child on the way--but that didn't mean he couldn't make the older Lalafell sweat a little bit. In an exhalation that seemed to amalgamate into a cross between a wheeze, a sigh, and a cough, the Lalafell slumped. "Take....take the route, then." Nero spun around, clapping his hands, his widest smile yet adorning his face. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"