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

FF14-Tomcat · **07-18-2010, 11:25 PM**

Madin pretended to take notice as Todd trotted off, chest puffed out, stomach sucked in, after delivering his little 'Everything is under control' speech. What a bother.

Now that the hindrance was out of the way, he turned to face the two remaining members of his audience, saying, "Lodging I can help, yes. Yes?" More so to the woman, "Sweet place it is will you find, bitter face will find you not, yes, Yes?" He then took out two pamphlets from the folds of his robe and passed them to his new-found customers.

Other than a map of Limsa Lominsa, with the Drowning Wench Tavern circled in an ink that faintly smelt of fish guts, the pamphlets also contain the instructions, "Ask for the Fisher." Adding on to that instruction was a child-like scribble barely visible, saying, "Yes?"

"Now go, go. Gentleman escort ladee, no. No? ...Yes? ...Yes. Sweeper take care of little mess here, yes?" Madin gestured to the pool of blood still smugly beaming at the end of the alleyway, reflecting the sun's rays.

He sniffed at the woman. "Ah, smell only you now, no? Take alleyway smell with you not good, yes?" With this he sprayed some Deodoriser onto the cat-woman. "Worry not about payment now, yes? Treat it as favor owed, yes?" He made an awkward wink at her.

He then made his way to the back of the alleyway, giving a dismissive wave to his two ex-companions.

Oh, tired. So, so tired.

Nikolai · **07-19-2010, 02:06 AM**

"Goodness," Fejar began quietly to himself after a moment's hesitation, looking sheepishly at the woman, "what a strange little man." He looked over the map he had been handed. "The Drowning Wench;" he read, "a lovely name, no?" He looked up at the woman again. She was a strange one herself. He struggled to understand her accent; where was she from, he wondered? Perhaps he would ask her later, when the time felt more appropriate.

Fejar pulled his hood back over his head. Although he knew when he left home that few would have ever seen a male miqo'te, he was yet unaccustomed to the gawking droves of curious eyes that followed him on the streets. He acknowledged that a mere hood would not sufficiently hide his gender, but at least this way he could not see people as they stared, and he felt comfortable.

Fejar turned to face the woman completely, and began again, gesturing somewhat extravagantly as he spoke, "Well, although I do not suppose a woman such as yourself truly needs an escort, it appears as though our destination is one and the same, so..." he turned again such that his left side faced her, offering her his arm and nervously, awkwardly looking over his shoulder at her, summoned a strained smile, "perhaps you would like to take my arm?"

Zhavi · **07-19-2010, 03:19 PM**

Vijako felt her gut abandon her for fairer pastures. His arm stuck out like a shark fin, all unwelcome and pointy, held with the assumption that she would act like a lady and take it. Truth was she wasn't as offended as she might appear, with her tail stiff and rigid behind her and her eyes narrow and crusty with sleep and less kind things. She was, of all things, highly uncomfortable with this new direction this strange man was taking.

"No." Was the short of it, and she held out her hands so her palms faced him. "No." Was the long of it, too. She felt no need to coddle him -- she didn't coddle anyone for that matter -- and she'd let him feel the bruising of a fallen ego if it came to that, with little sympathy from her. If they were seen arm in arm she'd be seen for sure, especially since he was so eye-catching. But then she realized that could be put to her advantage.

She fisted one hand on her hip and snapped the fingers of her other hand at him. "Give over. Yer cloak, give it. Quick like, I've a mind fer sleepin' since I ain't no sun kisser." Her voice was full of a deeper growl now that the guard had vacated the area, and she let him see the full of her grumpy, sleep deprived scowl.

Nikolai · **07-19-2010, 08:33 PM**

Fejar was visibly relieved when she declined; she was, after all, still covered from head to toe in the muck of the alley, and even if she were not, it would have been awfully awkward. He relaxed and allowed his arm to hang at his side. Then, suddenly, the woman's demeanor changed, and she demanded to have his cloak? His eyes narrowed slightly as he once again stumbled a few steps backward.

"My- my cloak...?" Was she threatening him? No, it did not seem so; she was simply exhausted, and it was making her irate, he reasoned. "Well, I suppose I can always weave another," he acquiesced, swiftly setting his pole on the ground, removing his possessions from his cloak's pockets and and placing them into his vest's many pouches. In another swift motion, he shed the ample cloak, and handed it to the woman. "You can keep that," he said wryly, looking her over. Although she no longer smelled of the alley, she was yet irrevocably covered in filth. No amount of laundering would ever remove the inevitable stains...

Fejar retrieved his pole and brushed some dirt from it with his free hand. Without his cloak, he looked awfully thin. He wore a snugly fitting, long-sleeved dark brown hempen vest with the cuffs turned up and folded back. The vest had six small, rectangular pouches about the chest, each with similar, but differing black buttons; they each looked full enough to burst. He also wore flowing slacks of a lighter brown tucked into high leather boots that matched his vest. Overall, his outfit was very brown and very neat, in stark contrast to his messy, rust-colored hair that ever insisted upon settling over his right eye. Although a Seeker of the Sun, his skin was very fair. He preened apprehensively.

"Well, it seems I now have a need to gather a few materials, so perhaps I shall meet with you later." He simpered at her self-consciously, and laughingly added, "Do be safe, won't you?" With that, he futilely brushed his hair aside once more, and started off towards the Hawker's Alley.

Zhavi · **07-20-2010, 12:04 PM**

"Hold it." She reached out to grab him firmly by the elbow. "Yer takin' me there." She pointed with emphasis to the map. She'd gotten the cloak halfway on, without care for the way it stuck to the damp patches on her body. She wrinkled her nose as she tried to fight off a sneeze from the deodorizer, and it bucked up the lines of scar tissue on her face to make her look like she was snarling.

Nikolai · **07-22-2010, 06:30 AM**

Stopped in his tracks by the woman's firm grasp, Fejar grew tense. She was certainly being awfully demanding. Her map was marked the same as his, with the Drowning Wench circled, and little notes here and there. The inn was not far, but he did so dread drawing attention. Alas... He sighed, relaxing slightly as he turned to face her. "Very well, the new cloak can wait." His voice and expression had in them subtle hints of frustration. "To the Drowning Wench, then?"

DAISHI · **07-23-2010, 02:26 AM**

The door to the Drowing Wench swung open, the bald man's head poking in, his body following behind, encased in a long coat that hid the many daggers that lined his belt. His eyes scanned about, finger playing at his pocket, the smooth handle of one of his longer knives sitting comfortably within. Wrapped within a bag placed inside the opposite pocket as a bag, its coins jingling, the noise catching the attention of several nearby.

His lifted his eyes, looking about. The faces of money-hungry men were all around. Exactly what he wanted to see. He held off the impulse to begin paying them off, instead moving to a table, his narrow but muscular frame sliding into one of the chairs. His eyes lit up as his hands moved onto the table.

"Time for a drink."

Zhavi · **07-27-2010, 05:20 PM**

They moved off, with Viko safe in the moment within the cocoon the cloak formed over her, though not immune entirely to the stares of others. For that she had Fejar before her, and that was what left her smug in her own knowledge of invisibility to most, if not all. He led her, and she coldly thought over the options she had.

No one really, truly liked mercenaries. They were a necessity to the machinations of war, a safeguard and a commodity like any other traded good. They were regarded with the edged caution given any wild beast collared and leashed, with the notion that at any moment a lunge and snap might take off fingers, or hand, or worse. Mercenaries were never trusted. Liars, cheats, thieves, badly mannered and vicious. That was the most of the sum, and Vijako had never denied any of the accusations levied at her. The only one she really ever did deny was the crime of rape; but then again she'd defaced and looted and all the rest without a thought for honor or justice.

Selling services paid. Any whore or drug dealer could tell you that, and without the gilt veneer of civility to soften the truth of the matter. Vijako had learned early on from the death of a sodden drunk that death beget money, and money beget a happier life. No one could tell her otherwise.

But sell that death to the right or wrong person, and you courted their enemies. And when you did that, the whole sum of the mess grew right complicated, until one day you face someone's boot from the wrong direction, descending to crush you unless you had enough left to move out of the way. And yet, for the promise of cheesy wealth, Vijako wouldn't move out of the way. It was the same as any lousy addiction, not that she'd admit to it even in her most private thoughts, to be roomed with the same thoughts about how much money she would wind up spending on drugs and booze and easy men.

It was jolting when the sign of the Drowning Wench creaked down at her, and she blinked at Fejar in sudden realization of him. She might have been accosted and likely she would not have seen it coming, the whole way to the tavern. She screwed up her mouth and spat near the doorjamb.

"Well lamb, I've business t'see." Her fingers fumbled over the place where her coin and last few snatches of maneflower had once rested. She instead settled her hand on her hip. She eyed him. "Could use a smart mind n' a shut mouth -- if you've th' will t' see me safe."

She cocked an arrogant smile at him. She could use a patsy, all right, and a right innocent fall boy to take her share of the hits when they came.

DAISHI · **07-28-2010, 02:09 AM**

"Come one, come all, gentlemen," the Maestro said, gathering a crowd about him. "Now maybe you caught word of that fire at the Bismarck. Shame, shame." He held up a finger. "Worth a laugh though, and worth some money if you bothered stripping the dead once the deed was done. Now, I'm not saying I was there." He paused, taking a step away from the table. "Though, truth is, I was. An innocent bystander, but a bystander who's got what all of you might want. I mean jobs of course, the sort of jobs you all are looking for. Something a little exciting, something with some profit to it. Maybe, just maybe, something that'll make you rich."

They were a stupid looking lot for the most part, a bunch of easily manipulated ruffians with scars on their faces and chests that when added would make up their I.Q.s. "Now, some of you may or may not have heard of the Eldamane Trader's Consortium." He paused, eyes going to the roof. "Wait. Is that Eldamane Trading Company? Trader's Post?" His foot tapped on the floor, his eyes scanning the wood for a moment before he looked up again. "Whatever it is, the point was this..." he said, reaching into his pocket and taking out a handful of coins, which he tossed casually into the air. Immediately a couple of the brutes began to push each other out of the way, forcing themselves to the fore as they attempted to grab at the money.

The Maestro shook his head. "See? You all must be hungry. I'm guessing your boss doesn't feed you well. I've got the hunch some of you work for One-Eye. Maybe some of you work for Fikker." He took a knife from his vest, tossing it downwards through the top of the table. "Well guess what gentlemen, you all work for coin, and that's exactly what I'm offering." The smile he'd worn to now suddenly faded, his face becoming emotionless and cold. "What I want to know is, which one of you is a killer?"

Nikolai · **07-28-2010, 10:26 PM**

Within moments, they had arrived at the Drowning Wench. None too soon, either, Fejar supposed; he moved hastily, for the noontime sun bore heavily down upon his fair exposed skin, and as expected, there had been far too many curious eyes. To his relief, none had made an effort to converse with him, and so quickly and without a word, the pair moved along. Now, here they were, at the morbidly-titled inn where they would find food and lodging.

Finally, Ko broke the silence. Did she just call him a lamb? ... Not too far off, he supposed. However, such an implication... He began to wonder if he had gotten involved in something he did not yet comprehend. He knew his hands would inevitably get dirty if he were to remain here long, as he was quickly coming to realize just what sort of a city Limsa Lominsa was. He further reasoned that if he was going to make a living here, he would be in need of a friend, and so far, this hardened woman was the closest he had. Perhaps she saw also benefit in having made his acquaintance; it sounded as though she was offering him work. Although, she had just been mugged; he wondered if she had any means of paying him. His curiousity got the better of him, though, and he decided he would hear her out. "Pray tell," he began, attempting to brush his hair aside once again, "what do you suggest?"

He then took notice of an eccentric looking man rallying the bar-goers with a rousing speech. "Moreover, precisely who is that man over yonder?"

Zhavi · **07-29-2010, 12:00 PM**

Vijako had twisted at Fejar's words, without answering, to push into the tavern and see for herself, but her ears went flat as she heard a particularly interesting word. Fikker. She looked back at Fejar as if to mark him with her eyes, and then she penetrated deeper into the building, skirting around the edges of the crowd to get a better look at the man who might as well have been soapboxing.

The offer interested her, even if she was already spoken for in raw, cold gil. She turned back to Fejar and motioned for him to come closer to her. It paid to know the currents that flowed through the city, and something as public as this would have quite the effect come sundown. She'd mutter to him, if he came near: "If gil's the heart o' this city, this here's the bones. Look well. Listen good."

Several men and women called out gruff and shrill alike their qualifications, not without their own seedy suggestions and catcalls. It was chaotic, but not loud. Vijako waited to see how the man would treat these street scum, what he would say to them next.

Nikolai · **07-30-2010, 03:27 AM**

At the woman's beckon, Fejar approached hesitantly. At her words, he simply nodded. She was right; it was time to observe. What a display it was... it would seem their culture allowed for public, unrestrained discussion of assassination in broad daylight. Was the act of murder, then, acceptable as well? He pondered for a moment. This city was fascinating-- to observe, at any rate, but he could not live here. How could anyone? Yes, as soon as he had the money and supplies, he would travel elsewhere... but what if murder was the only means of earning your keep in this place? He shuddered at the thought; he did not think himself capable.

He wished he could just leave, but now was not the time. There was something bigger at work here, and he had a feeling that this woman knew what it was. Besides, he was guaranteed a place to sleep safely here tonight. He thought back to the lalafell from the alley. He had said to ask for someone... "the fisher", was it? He stood, watching. Was the fisher here amongst the crowd? Or perhaps this eccentric man was the one they sought? Now did not seem a good time to ask, and so he remained vigilant; time would tell.

DAISHI · **08-03-2010, 04:30 AM**

A shine lit upon the bald man's head, his unhinged grin falling on the newcomers.

"We have guests," he said, tongue falling out of his mouth and licking at the shimmering alcohol that still remained on his lips. "But who isn't a guest in this wench? She's a whore for sure and her occupants all prostitutes." His fingers went to the interior of his long coat, ripping another dagger from his chest. "So what'll it be?" he asked holding the dagger upwards, its edges bare and deadly. "Perhaps you've heard the offer? This is a public advertisement, after all. I'm looking for a few good men. I suppose a few good women, if they have what it takes, and I'm not talking about what's sitting on your chest."

He laughed a little, infinitely amused at himself. "As for the rest of you, feel free to find me. Or if you're thinking about coming after me to appease your leash holder, then tell Fikker he's free to find me here. I'm waiting to slit his throat anyway." His eyes grew wide, the whites of them shimmering in the light, almost as if the emotional rush of the moment had put tears to them. "Now make your decision dogs. Either you're ready for some fun, or my money's not good enough, and either way I'm bored with the lot of you."

Streetside Jive (Request)

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