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

CrookedTarot · **08-17-2014, 03:33 PM**

Of course'd deliberately not stated his name. The sign WAS on the door after all. And no Moogle would have a name like Tarot so he always left it to the logic and deductive abilities of his customers to figure out his name. A Sultansworn SHOULD have that much deductive reasoning, shouldn't she? He exhaled a bit of smoke and nodded. "Well, unless you'd like to look at something else--though I do have to admit, I'm a bit hurt. You were smiling when you came in and now you're frowning as you leave. I would be remiss in my duties as a merchant and gentleman if I didn't point it out."

It was an odd transformation, to be sure. She'd not been spewing rainbow aether when she entered, but she had been less tense and far, far less formal. He didn't recall changing his own demeanor terribly...that meant she either suspected something or she was simply a very bad actress.

Taking his pipe out of his teeth, he held the delicate stem in his fingers a moment before looking back to his current customer. "You're more than welcome for the treasures you've purchased. My stock changes frequently so please do come in again later. I have special deals for return customers you see."

Maybe he should institute a means to track purchases for them...? Maybe little punch-cards. "But beyond that, no, I'm afraid I've nothing else. I do hope you have a good day and that your friend enjoys her gift and you your book."

Coatleque · **08-17-2014, 04:19 PM**

Collecting her purchases as he continued speaking she made for the door. She looked back to him. "I meant no slight against you, Ser. My time is short, however, and very important to some. May Nald'thal guide you to fortune, Master Tarot."

With a slight smile and polite curtsey, she let herself out of the shop.

***

Melkire · **08-20-2014, 04:22 PM**

Thanalan rainstorms are a terror.

They are not theÂ refreshingly coolÂ downpours of Vylbrand, nor are they theÂ enriching showers of the Shroud that leaveÂ behind the divine scent of morning dew. No,Â when rain comes toÂ Thanalan, 'tis a morbidly humid, sticky affair, and 'twas during a such a one that there came a series of rapidÂ knocks on the Emporium's door.

The briefest of moments passed before someone pushed the doorÂ slightly ajarÂ andÂ slipped inside, stepped across the threshold.Â A robed figure wrapped in loam brown hemp, cowl drawn over the face. Short in stature, slight yet masculine in build, the figure stood with its head bowed, and a... mass...Â beneath one arm, under the robe.

The other arm rose up as the door fell shut, and oneÂ gloved handÂ pulled back the cowl to reveal a sopping wet mess of dark brown hair and a mischievous smile that brought a wicked gleam to the man's green eyes.

"Tarot," he called out as he began stepping his way through and around the cramped confines of the shop. A turn this way, a pivot that way, a foot here, there... his robe billowed slightly as he improvised his way across the floor, but the various trinkets and valuables of the emporium remained untouched and undisturbed.

"Blimmin' weather's downright disgusting, I'll have y'know...."

CrookedTarot · **08-21-2014, 11:58 AM**

"M'yes~?"

The door to the backroom opened and Tarot emerged languidly, his pipe in his teeth as he moved slowly to lean on the counter. He'd heard the door open and close and naturally had come to investigate--but the voice told him all he needed to know off the bat anyway. It wasn't so much that he suspected any trouble; he didn't. Osric was a fine (heh), upstanding (heh-heh) Brass Blade--okay, yeah, hard to even think that without chuckling. Yes yes, there WERE some honorable and upright Brass Blades but it was far more fun to poke at the stereotypes, even if it was just to himself.

"I am aware..." he nodded, taking a small pull from his pipe before looking at Osric with a half-grin, tilting his head. "It's why I'm in here and not out there." Being the type of person he was, it didn't take Tarot long to see the bulky mass under the man's arm and his eyes brightened noticeably. "Ah, but you've brought me something today. Glad to see this isn't a business call."

It damn well better not be--Tarot had paid off the Blades for the full year and he had the receipt to prove it. "At least, not strictly business." Looking at the shorter man with a look of lean and avaricious hunger, he took another breath on his kiseru before motioning with his hand. "Let's see what kind of trouble you've brought to my humble doorstep today..." This was said with nothing but bemusement. Osric always brought him interesting things and while some were trouble, all of them proved profitable in the end.

I should give him one of those new punch-cards...

Melkire · **08-21-2014, 01:34 PM**

Osric chuckled as he gradually made his way over to the counter, still pirouetting this way and that.

"Trade you grand adventures for this hole in the wall y'call a storefront," he muttered.Â It was an offer that he made every time; it had become something of a tradition, teasing Tarot over the meager space with which he had to work.

"No, no, not strictly business," he replied as he reached Tarot at last. He rocked back and forth on his feet, from balls to heels and back again, shite-eating grin on his face as he patted the mass under his arm.

The peddlerÂ had mistaken him for a Brass Blade back when Osric had first stumbled upon his shop - like as not due to the fly mask that was erroneously associated with thatÂ outfit -Â and the Immortal Flame had never bothered to correct him. Why should he, when the Blades' reputation brought him advantage here? To stand out amidst the scum as an honorable fellow... yes, that brought advantage.

At Tarot's request, he reached insideÂ his robe and pulled out heavy tome. The red leatherÂ covers wereÂ worn andÂ faded, the binding cracked with age. OsricÂ carefully placed the old text on the counter,Â turned it around to face the shopkeeper, openedÂ it up, and began flipping through the pages.

"Damned thing's ancient, to m'reckonin'. Full o' descriptions of bygone cultures, their society, their monuments, their armaments.... figured it might fetch a price, but that's not why I'm here. Came not t'sell, but t'acquire."Â

This was an unusual change of pace, and the customer knew it. He had first stumbled onto the Crooked Phoenix Emporium when his regular supplier of fineÂ steel had closed up. Rent on Sapphire wasn't cheap, after all... but that had mattered little when Osric's trustedÂ source ofÂ all things knives and daggersÂ had dried up. Tarot, he found, had good stock. He was competent, professional, discrete... and that suitedÂ the Flame just fine. MostÂ of Osric's purchases were doneÂ through an intermediary, and as for rare finds, those he brought in personally.

One last flick of his wrist brought him to the illustration he was after; he smoothed out the pages, tapped the sketch to draw attention to it, then dug around in his robes....

"As y'can imagine, law enforcement's a bit of a bind, at times." Onto the counter he dropped a pair of brass knuckles. "Y'need non-lethal force, for the unruly citizens and residents..." Then a pair of steel patas; close inspection would reveal them to beÂ standard-issue I.F. equipment.Â "...yet certain occasions call for a more... permanent touch."

He placed his palms on theÂ edge of the counter and leaned forward, his face falling into a rather stern and serious frown.

"I'm getting sick o' carryin' around two sets. It's unwieldy and nearly cost me m'life the other sun."

OsricÂ tapped the illustration again without ever taking his eyes off Tarot.

"This looks like it'd serve m'purposes... yet I've no idea where to acquire a pair. Original, replica, I don't care. The tome y'can have for lookin' into this for me; I'll pay coin for the acquisition. Y'know I'm good for it."

CrookedTarot · **08-22-2014, 01:55 PM**

Tarot would never mention it, but being from the Brass Blades afforded one no advantange beyond the occasional flattering word and offer for a discount or 'gift'. The fact was, Tarot loathed the Blades. Not because of what they did to HIS business--his own business was far too deeply rooted and successful to ever have the Blade put anything more than a small damper on his operation, even if they tried. No, he hated the Blades because of what he did to other peoples businesses. The people who could barely afford to stay open, let alone pay off a group of--

His eyes looked down at the book as he clicked his teeth gently on the mouthpiece of his pipe, looking at the image carefully. Replicas were easy enough to get ahold of, but Tarot had never been one for going for the cheaper (and safer) route. The book was likely worth its weight in gil and already made the exchange profitable enough, without adding in his usual finder's fees and outrageous interest rates. And yes, he did indeed gouge the hells out of his customers.

Especially Brass Blades.

Thankfully, Osric had somehow found his way into Tarot's good books, between banter and proving that he was not more crooked than Tarot was when it came to his oh-so-lofty position.

Of course, Tarot wasn't stupid. He found out soon enough that Osric was with the Immortal Flames. Still, the game was fun and it was a decent excuse to drain a little more gil out of the smart-ass man every now and then. "I can get it for you, of course," he nodded, exhaling with a drawn out nod. "It might not be fast but I can certainly get it. I know a person who knows a person--that sort of thing." He'd send word to the Fogfens. This sounded like something she would have laying around.

"Always happy to be of service, of course. You know, I am offering a special." He flicked his free hand, a card with a series of little squares printed on it appearing between his fingers. "Make ten purchases and get a special, complimentary surprise."

Melkire · **08-25-2014, 02:24 PM**

A person who knew a person... Osric frowned. He knew how grapevines worked well enough from personal experience; you passed word that you were interested to an associate, and they passed that on for you, on their own time and at their own convenience, and so on and so forth until the message reached the right ear. That could take aÂ sevenday, mayhap even aÂ moon or more... but then, he could affordÂ to wait for something of this quality.

He couldn't help but bark a laugh, though,Â as Tarot pitched yet another sale. The man was relentless, and for good reason: the sergeant had deep pockets, courtesy of his... organization... and he was free to draw on those funds, to a point,Â so long as the coin was spent in pursuit of their goals.

"Special, eh? Complimentary? Aight, I'll take the usual, then." The usual was an order for an assortment of well-forged blades of various shapes and sizes: throwing knife, stiletto, dirk, rondel, push-dagger,Â main-gauche, khukuri, and pesh-kabz. Not a one enchanted or enchanced, though:Â heÂ could not afford to invest in such expensive steel when his purposes required the dispensable and disposable.

"That's eight. For the ninth, I'd like somethin' somewhat more... exotic."

He leaned forward against the counter again, and started describing the product. A perfume,Â a fragrance more suited to Lominsan fashion,Â regal and oppressive. He did his best to describe the smell that had haunted him for more than a decade: orchid petals in a high wind, fresh citrus, a touch of honey, and the ever-presentÂ rum that graced the pubs and taverns of that tiered city.

"If you've anythin' like that in stock, I'll gladly go in for a bottle. And as for the tenth... the backroom open for viewin' today, or no?"

CrookedTarot · **08-30-2014, 11:52 AM**

He almost stopped Osric to tell him that he didn't mean ten separate items but rather ten separate visits. He would need to clarify that later. Still, he wasn't going to pass up a chance for a full sale today, especially for a backroom inquiry which was always far more invigorating than any shop-front banter. Grinning as he gathered up the requested pieces, one after the other, the stopped at the request for the perfume. Something like that would be far more difficult to procure on hand, simply because scent was a tricky thing--one may find patchouli a bracing scent that reminded them of the woods and exotic markets, while another may believe that it simply reeked of death.

Putting that aside, Tarot would do his best to help with the ninth--it would give time Osric to look around in the back room.

"For you? Of course it is," he grinned, tilting his head and motioning the mysterious door that was kept closed, firmly, whenever someone was within the shop. Moving to the door, he stood in front of it, enough to block Osric's view as he turned the handle and pressed a small segment of the wood in on itself, then slid the whole door to the left, revealing not a cramped office but a very large and dimly lit warehouse stocked to the gills with all kinds of things. The whole of the building, in fact, the very store-front itself, was on, large false wall.

THIS was the true depth of the Phoenix's Claw, so to speak, and Tarot motioned his patron to enter quickly before someone else came along to spoil the fun. "I'll see after your perfume request up front here--mind your fingers, as always, Osric. Half of those things may be cursed in some way, and I don't know what the hell the rest do--that and if my associate back there finds out you've been trying to slip things away into that robe of yours, he'll take the cost out of your knee caps~!" he gave a pleasant smile that promised a great deal of pain if Osric did try anything funny--it was nothing personal though; he said this to Osric (and every other customer) every time they went back there.

Tarot's associate, the moogle, Moggie-Moglin, had a fondness for large clubs and bats, and was even more fond of flying around the warehouse and breaking the joints of people that tried to ferret away things into their pockets that didn't belong to them...

Melkire · **09-03-2014, 12:51 PM**

Osric knew better than to touch anything after that one incident.

It had only taken him a few visits to the backroom to grow accustomed to the near omnipresent threat that Tarot's Moogle associate represented. TheÂ little blighter took to following customers about as the browsed the warehouse aisles, and the bugger was more often than not invisible while he did so. Smart, that one; he'd leave his... implements... lying about on tables, in drawers,Â onÂ shelves, in dark corners, and so on and so forth. A floating club, a customer could see coming. A bat blending in amongst the merchandise? Far more difficult to spot.

The sergeant had beenÂ rather overwhelmed with excitement one sun, having come across a first-edition volume of a particularly raunchy novel, so much so that he'd lifted the text offÂ a bookshelf and made for the door to the storefront to inquire after its price... only to be met with a two-by-four to the back of his head and to wake up bells later to Tarot dumping cold water over him. Suffice to say he'd learned his lesson.

So much for a lack of situational awareness.

Now, though, he paced rather languidly up and down the length of the warehouse, eyes open for implements... and for gifts. A tome for Kanaria, perhaps, or a new pipe for Kahn'a,Â or incendiary compounds for Askier. HeÂ kept his eyes open for articles of a more professionalÂ bent, as well.Â Files, documents, bits of clothing that could lend themselves to useful disguises, poisons,Â potions, enchanted artifacts,Â anythingÂ that looked out of sorts....

What I wouldn't given for a gods-damned trenchcoat.

CrookedTarot · **09-10-2014, 11:41 AM**

Leaving Osric to his own devices (so to speak) Tarot went about looking for the perfume in question. While he was surprised, in a way, that Osric would want something like this, he supposed it wasn't too terribly odd. He'd likely met some maiden and wanted to make a gift of it. While Tarot saw little purpose in it (perfumes were nice but typically wreaked havoc on his nose) he still kept them around for the customers that wanted them. Shutting the door almost completely to the back room, he began his search through his carefully organized mess.

=============

Osric did well to keep his hands to himself. The associate, Moggie-Moglin, was indeed watching from above, his little whiskers twitched as he looked down on the man with his little black eyes. Osric's discretion was well-timed. Moggie was not in a good mood today. In fact, he was suffering one his hang-overs and was looking to beat the living tar out of anything to make himself feel better.

To be fair, despite his thuggish tendencies, Moggie wasn't necessarily a cruel sort of person, er--moogle. Rather, he found though that his size and general appearance (cute and cuddly) left him little choice if he wanted to command any respect. Tarot dealt with a great number of respectable people; merchants and bankers and soldiers and tinkers and tailors amongst many others. But then he also dealt with people that weren't reputable and it was usually these types that required a good swing of one of his many bats to keep in line. Normally it didn't do any permanent damage since one good swing was enough to deter anyone from ever trying anything again, but as Osric learned, innocent or not, the moogle was ever ready to meat out justice of the most 'cute and cuddly' kind.

Kupo.

Melkire · **09-12-2014, 03:11 PM**

Speak of the voidsent, and they shall appear.

Osric circled around the stand at the end of one particular aisle, maintaining a respectful distance lest a certain someone take umbrage. His eyes looked up andÂ downÂ over the displayed garment, scanning for any stains,Â torn seams, poor stitching. He found nothing; the trenchcoat was immaculate. Approximately his size at the shoulders, long enough to drop down past his knees,Â a nice solid shade of brown... and sitting on the shelf next to it were a pair of black boots and gloves.

The quality of the coat, though... I've seen Od'hilkas at his work. Finest craftsman I know when it comes to leather... and I don't think even he could manage such. The hells did this come from? Nah, nah, better question: why haven't I bought the damned thing already?

"Tch."

A purposeful stride carried him back towards the front; as he reached the door that led into the backroom, he turned to glance back the way he'd come, takingÂ count of theÂ aisles, then heÂ knocked on the wood.

"Oi, Tarot! How much for the fancy piece o'Â work what's standin' at the end o' aisle four? The one that looks like somethin' y'plucked from the leatherworkers' guild in Gridania. The boots 'n' gloves, too, how much for those?"

CrookedTarot · **09-24-2014, 12:24 PM**

Tarot grinned inwardly when he heard the question. Seemed that Moggie-Moglin's lesson had definitely NOT been lost on Osric after all this time! Turning, he opened the door to the backroom in time to greet the shopper as he looked at the item on display. There was a fun story behind that one involving a botanist, a collection of love letters and a large block of Gridanian Cheese. The coat itself was rather nice, and though Tarot was loathed to part with it since he'd been debating on wearing it himself for a while now, he simply could not pass up the chance to get a bit more gil jingling in his pocket.

The rest of Osric's purchases were lined up on the counter by now, already wrapped and ready to go. He knew Osric knew better than to ask for more than he could spend so he didn't dither on whether the man could afford it or not. Besides, most everything in the front of the shop was far easier to haggle over so he wasn't worried about it.

"Hmm?" He asked, leaning into the room to get a look, pretending he hadn't the foggiest idea of what Osric was talking about before nodding. "Oh yes! That little set. Well, for you, I could part with the whole thing for 10,000 gil. Of course, I am knocking a bit off for being a frequent customer, and for already filling up your purchase card so quickly." He gave an oily grin as he looked Osric over smugly. "It would look better on me, I think, so my desire to part with it may not last for long..."

Melkire · **10-01-2014, 07:00 PM**

The sergeant grimaced.

Not so long ago, ten thou had been his life savings.Â Contrary to popular belief, most Flames were not paid well:Â a soldier was more like than not to retire to his cot not with a bag of coin, but with a fistful of seals. Four, nearlyÂ five cycles he'dÂ scroungedÂ and saved and amassed a small fortune, only to risk losing it all for a chance toÂ return home to Limsa.

Things had changed, though, with the turning of the seasons. He was with the Red Wings now. More importantly, the captain had left him in charge of the unit's covert operations, which meant that he had plenty of funds to draw on, provided he could justify the costs. Operational funding was just a small part of a larger sum, though: he and his men knew all too well the wealth that was information. Too often they came across secretsÂ that were not onlyÂ worthÂ many a small fortune to the right persons, butÂ were also not pertinent to state security.

So yes, he could afford ten thou now, despite the rather dire matter of hoarding every bronze piece he could get his grubby mitts on for the sake of a rather pressing engagement.

The damnable thing was that he couldn't afford it right now. The rumor mill had gone quiet as of late, and the well of wealth had dried up as the winds died.

He'd walked in here with plenty for his usual, withÂ enough set aside for both his commission and the matter of the perfume. On top of all that,Â he had five hundred and seven thou left over from his own purse... which left him short. Left him tantalizingly close. Downright maddening, that he couldn't justify dipping into his other purse, the one specifically set aside for business... even more so given Tarot's infuriating taunt of a grin. Bloody salesmen....

Is it even really worth that much, though? It's just a gods-damned coat.

I've never seen anythin' of that quality. Fen-Yll Atelier couldn't make something like that, even if they had the whole Syndicate fundin' 'em for moons.

Still. The hells do you want it for? Can't work that into a disguise...

...it'd go quite a ways towards makin' me look like an inspector, though.

That decided him. He made a quick show of hesitance, stuffing his hands into his robes and leaning with one shoulder against the wall.

"Listen, Tarot... can't afford that quite yet, but... listen, listen! I've got five and seven thou t'me name for this. I've the remainin' five and two thou on me now, but, ah, that'd be diggin' into official funds. If you could... I don't know," he pulled a hand out and gave it a little lateral twirl, "find it in you t'donateÂ that five and twoÂ to a good cause... like charity, see, refugees and the like... I could recompense you next moon, along with a nice bonus when the commissioned item comes in."

He spread his arms.

"Your askin' price, a bonus, a... 'filled purchase card'... and a little touch o' reputation for the ol' Emporium. 'You heard o' Tarot? Damned blighter offers fair prices, makes a profit, and still donates to charity!' That sort o' gossip's got to be good for business, no?"

CrookedTarot · **10-02-2014, 11:44 AM**

Perfect.

The bartering was quaint but Tarot was barely listening to the heartfelt plea of the man that so desperately wanted this coat. It was likely that if it had been anyone else, absolutely anyone else, Tarot would have let it go for what the man had in his pockets with a promise to collect on the interest later. But this was Osric he was talking to, and he knew Osric was good for the money and therefore pinning him with interest was not going to do much to expand Tarot's coffers.

But what was why the smile that spread on his face and brought a dangerous shine to Tarot's eyes grew larger by every passing moment. It was a delight to have someone in this state--very nearly titillating to the proprieter of the Crooked Phoenix; the thrill of victory when truly anything was possible.

Coming out from behind the counter, he put an arm around Osric's shoulders, clicking his tongue and speaking in one of the more deeply patronizing tones he saved for only those he marked being largely familiar to him. "Osric, Osric, Osric. Now, I know you're good for the money but I have bills to pay and a moon is too long for me to wait on a promise of money." He patted the man fondly on the chest as if speaking to a dear brother or friend, confiding in him some shameful secret. "Rest assured I understand your plight all too fully and that is why I must sadly say I cannot wait for funding for another month to let the articles go today."

He paused, then looked him over a moment, putting him at arms length and comparing their height. "However, perhaps you could do me a favor in exchange. I know you're in good with the Flames--" He forced himself to not snicker at the little charade he kept up concerning that and his ignorance about Blades and Flames, "So, why don't we do this. You pay for everything today and I will hold the coat and accoutrements here. You run along home and bring back to me a full Flames uniform to fit my robust self..."

He leaned in close, blue-and-gold eyes sparking with a deeper meaning. "I would like something authentic for a costume party, you see, and I really am not in a place to have an armor maker whip me up something convincing. It need not be anything fancy--no officer's gear or anything. Just a basic uniform. Can you do that for poor old Tarot? If you can then I can part with your coat and we can call the rest of the amount paid in full..."

It might be difficult to tell which was worse; the meaning behind the words or the fact that his tone was so genuinely, almost sickeningly sincere, you'd have thought it was a child speaking for a moment. "Besides, my Namesday is coming up. And let's not forget what happened last year when you made my Namesday sour with your bout of clumsiness. I know Moggie hasn't forgotten."

Melkire · **10-18-2014, 09:42 PM**

Osric scowled.Â

Like hells am I goin' t'let you traipse up 'n' down Thanalan impersonatin' an officer, scrag.Â

"Can't be done," was what he said aloud. "If it was one o' them soldiers' uniforms y'were after, them overcoats with those dull brown lapels what ain't got a lick o' color in 'em, then maybe. But an officer's? Hells no. Tight under lock 'n' key, and it'd be treason t'hand them out like that. I ain't havin' that traced back t'me; I'm not the one known t'be Crooked."

He pushed off the wall and made his way back out, circled around to the front of the Emporium's counter. He undid the wrap on his purchases and started inspecting the various blades one by one, sighting along each edge.

"I'll get you one o' them bottles o' dragonfire for your Nameday, Tarot. Mayhap you'll share a shot or two with Moggie."

He slid the last, the pesh-kabz, back into the little loop on the inside of the wrap. He popped the lip on the perfume, lightly sprayed his wrist, and sniffed at it.Â

"I'll take another throwing knife, instead. Gods knows there's no shortage of archers and mages whose concentration needs ruinin'."

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The Crooked Phoenix Emporium [Open]

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