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

Askier · **08-01-2014, 12:29 PM**

Askier watched as Erik tossed over the key and snatched it out of the air with his right hand. He looked at it as Erik spoke.

"I'll look into while you are away then." The Garlean replied as he lifted his head and fixed his eyes back on Erik while he tucked the key into his pocket. Â He was suddenly very interested to learn what was inside the box he had stashed inside his safe in his room.

"If I learn anything I'll" the apple flew straight and true and pegged the miqo'te in the chest. He jerked his head around as Osric's rant echoed around the bay. Â Askier smirked at the angry hyur and bent over to retrive the apple, ignoring the stinging make it had left.on his bare flesh.

The engineer took the apple in hand and then took a massive chunk out of it, his fangs flashing as he bit down.

"Thank you for the apple." Askier replied through a mouthful of food. Â "And I didn't tell you cause I'm still working on them. That and was kinda fun to hear you grump about traveling to Limsa. Revenge!'

The miqo'te shrugged.

"Did either of you need me for anything else? I should probably be getting back and check in on the lady taking up my bed."

Erik Mynhier · **08-01-2014, 04:57 PM**

Erik nodded, leaning on the rail, "We should have it from here. Do me a favor though and do try and sleep at some point, you lot are going to make me grey with worry." Just as he finished Montblanc ran down the steps, a little bag slung over its shoulder. The mammet scurried up the plank as Erik opened the wheelhouse door, putting a stool in front of the helm. It climbed up and started the engine. Erik waved to Askier as he whispered to Osric, "Get in the wheelhouse, Monty likes to gun i....." He was stopped by the sudden acceleration, the mammet nearly struck the doors... as usual. "Montblanc! Do not push the lady!"

Erik Mynhier · **08-01-2014, 07:12 PM**

Erik loved to fly, his favorite story as a child was about an Ishguardian Knight who flew in a grand airship. He always felt like a child when he flew the Falcon. If as usual it was piloted by Montblanc, Erik would stand at the bow railing and watch the world below. But the trip was never long enough, they soon found the next morning, and the port city of Limsa. Erik sighed and walked into the wheelhouse, "We are here. Montblanc, draw the main sail, no need to show off the crest. Osric, hold on, this little maniac lands harder then he launches."

Melkire · **08-01-2014, 07:36 PM**

Boat. Masts. Airship. No masts.

A fact he was lamenting as he went sprawling onto his back andÂ slid halfway down the deck. He rolled upright, one hand against the planksÂ andÂ the other clutching at his bandana, just in time for the airship to lurch. The deck fell out from under him by a good half-dozen fulms or so, and he fell. Slammed into the wood.

He growled, regained his feet, and scrambled for the wheelhouse as the Falcon started climbing again. He caughtÂ a door handle, prepared himself for the worst... only for the airship toÂ finally level out. Â

He pulled himself inside, closed the doors, and glanced forward to find Erik at the helm.

"Let's not do that again, shall we?"

"Harder? Harder?!"

The night's lack of rest, spent alone planning for as many contingencies as he could think of, hadn't helped his mood. He was particularly neurotic that morning as he glowered at the mammet before glancing about the wheelhouse.

"...harnesses. First thing I'm commissioning Askier for is some gods-damned harnesses. And maybe some safety lines for the deck."

Zhavi · **08-01-2014, 08:09 PM**

"I am here, my dearest lady!" Jacel opened his arms wide as he strode into Galine's office. Such a tacky thing. The fabrics that had been used were far too heavy. Her furniture was too austere to weather the brocades and velvets, the colors too deep for the sense of power he knew she wanted to convey. Really, he wanted to take her decorator to task. The man was a little fuss of a thing, easily overpowered, but the last time he'd attempted to put things to rights, Galine had had such a tiffle over it.

Jacel put his hand to his heart and bowed as low as his bulk allowed. He was a man of exquisite tastes and robust appetites. He made it a point to never say no to himself -- why should he, when he had access to all sorts of fun debauchery?

"I trust the Season sees you well?" Galine spoke after a brief pause. No doubt she was admiring his brilliant new doublet. It had set him back a few thousand gil, but it had been well worth the price.

Jacel straightened, twirling his cane with a flourish. Everything he did he did with a flourish. It was part of his considerable charm. "We have almost reached its end with naught but accolades and encores showering us. But then again, success always has followed me about like a stray puppy. Ahh, and you will be pleased to hear that our shy little flower has debuted. Kilele." He spoke the name only after seeing her blank smile.

"Indeed. How did she fare?"

"Admirably," Jacel gushed, leaning on his cane. "You should have seen their reaction to her bashful curtsy once she had finished her scherzo. Simply marvelous."

Galine nodded regally. She watched him as carefully as he watched her. Though he presumed he presented the prettier picture of the two. She was so taken with somber colors. The cuts of her clothing always followed fashion, but she never deigned to mold colors to what the current trends were. Some days he wondered if she wore clothing reminiscent of the casket on purpose -- but alas, it was not her business to attend to the nobility. That was his.

"As compelling a distraction as your news always is, I have called upon you for another reason altogether."

Ahh, and now something boring, no doubt. Limsa Lominsa was a fine city, even for a bard such as he who had retired from Ul'dah's grand stages years prior. If Ul'dah was an aged, complex wine, Limsa Lominsa was something light, fruity, and designed to get you smashing drunk. Jacel had his troupe -- it formed Galine's legitimate front -- and that was all he needed from the city. The cheap scheming that went on under the skirts of its wenches and through the cannons of its pirates was something he only partook of on very rare occasions. It bored him. It was business. Galine took care of business.

Jacel took care of the fun. "Hmm?" He peered at her, rubbing his chubby fingers over the crystal head of his cane.

"I would like you to provide an offer of entertainment to the Lord and Lady Greenwell. I believe. . .it is near that time of year again. When they lost their son to that dreadful rapscallion? I am sure you remember -- the city was in an uproar over it, and the fiend was never caught. The Lady Greenwell always has a soiree near the time -- you know how hyur women are, particularly the midlanders. I have heard it keeps her occupied."

Jacel, being a midlander himself, offered her a saccharine smile. "Quite."

"Offer them my best, and that I would like to present them with a . . . gesture of good faith at this event."

Jacel nodded, plucking at his lower lip. "How much of my . . . talent should I put aside for this good faith?"

"I would prefer that you retain the majority of your resources, for the time being. There is something else I have need for. Ahh. . ." Galine lifted a finger to her chin. Posed thus, she looked the part of a beautiful, fragile doll. "It would seem that Nymeia has delivered into my hands the perfect opportunity. I would have you look into a man named Osric Melkire, formerly known as Dirk Problemsolver."

"And what part of the city must I tread for this man?"

"He is not within Limsa Lominsa, Jacel."

"No?"

"He resides elsewhere. He is beholden to Ul'dah, and certain agencies there. He does not visit Limsa Lominsa often."

She was being vague on purpose. That was not very sporting of her, in Jacel's esteemed opinion. "Shall I take a vacation in the middle of the Season, serra?"

"From what I understand, he tried to offer dearest Zhavi a job."

"A job, you say? How dreadful."

"Indeed," Galine eyed him. "He will be back," she said, quietly. "I trust you will see to it that I am kept informed on all matters of interest to me."

"My lady! I could not abide the thought of him taking a single step within your fair city without you being aware of it!"

Jacel bowed.

Galine smiled.

Erik Mynhier · **08-01-2014, 08:12 PM**

"Safety line? But no one has even fallen overboard this year." Erik said in a calm serious voice, hiding the laughter threatening to spill out. He lowered the plank and pulled his hood, becoming another man. His voice called in a whisper, the Ala Mhigan accent layered over, "I must find a man named Cathal Lynn my Shadow."

Melkire · **08-01-2014, 11:08 PM**

He bit his lower lip and nodded, then turned to his rucksack and started rummaging through it. "Cathal Lynn... missin' persons case. Figured as much. Prepped our contact for materials as well,Â just t'be safe; I'll take care of that loose end shortly, don't you worry."

He dug his robe out of the bag, threw it over his head and drew it on, adjusted the cowl until theÂ hanging shadows obscured most of his face. He glanced over his shoulder at Montblanc, then eyedÂ Erik. "Can the little maniac fake a near-crash?"

The passengers were livid... well, one of the two was, anyroad.

"C-c-cannot believe that the Alliance would sanction such a... a..." The shorter man pivoted on oneÂ heel and thrust an accusatory finger back at the smoking airship. "...a deathtrap! And don'tÂ even get me started on the crew! Arrogant, selfish, rude...!"

They made their way over to the gated counter that awaited all arrivals who graced Limsa Lominsa'sÂ airship landing. The attendant on duty - Keeper, prim, proper - gave them a small, polite,Â indulgent smile as she slid a ledger towards them, along with quill and inkwell. "Sers. Your namesÂ and business here, please. Might I inquire if the captain will be along soon?"

The midlander took up the quill in his right hand, dipped it in the ink repeatedly, and looked up at her with wide, open eyes. Indignant shock, that's what that expression was. Something along the lines of, 'how dare you suggest such a thing'. He scowled as he bent down over the rather large tome and scribbled furiously. "I should hope not! Accursed man and his engineer are arms deep in... in..." He gave the Falcon a curt and dismissive wave with his other hand. "...in insuring that our return voyage is a safe one!"

He dropped the quill into the well, spun the tome around, reached into his robe and drew out...Â something. His highlander companion looked vaguely amused as he shoved the ledger back towards theÂ Keeper and flashed her a... a badge? Red on argent... her eyes widened slighty, but she gave noÂ other sign.Â

Good. A professional.

The latest entry in the ledger simply read,

CALL YOUR SUPERVISOR. DO IT QUIETLY. DO IT NOW.

"Just a moment, sers, and I'll see to it that you're on your way." She bowed and scurried off to see if she could find someone, anyone, who knew just exactly they were supposed to do when someone with something like that made landfall.Â

The two men didn't wait to find out. They turned abruptly, passed quietly through the gate, and headed straight for the lift. The shorter of the pair replaced his identification, dug through his robe again, came up with a small pearl, and popped it into his ear, held it there with two fingers.Â

"Master Raz! Our illustrious client has finally arrived. Pray tell, where can we meet you?"

Raz · **08-01-2014, 11:31 PM**

"Dear Cenric! How fine it is to see you. I hope you haven't missed me too terribly."

Cenric is both surprised and not surprised at all to see Skit standing in the doorway to his inn room. The man is groomed as ever, wearing fine, rich coloured clothes and an air of utter vanity that could rival even an Ul'dahn noblewoman's.

He strides past Cenric and inside the room without waiting for a response or permission, looking around the room with a mild look of disdain. "This is where you're living, hm? The decor is certainly.. unique," the Seeker coughs delicately.
"But! A lecture on your tastes - or lack thereof - will have to wait. I'm afraid I bear bad news. "

Cenric, barely fully awake, closes the door and turns to face Skit, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. "Oh? Must be bad if ye left yer comfy home t'come to Limsa, you bleedin' hate it here."

Skit nods slowly and sits at the table, posture straight, crossing one leg over the other. He sets a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on the table. Cenric hadn't even noticed the other man holding them. "It is. Come. Sit and share a drink with me. I fear you'll need it."

Cenric obeys, taking the seat opposite Skit and propping with chin up with a hand. He has no idea what to expect. With Skit, it's always hard to tell. The man's idea of bad news could vary from a dramatic change in the leading fashions to a big loss in profits, and anywhere in between. He always was dramatic. "Get to it, then," he says simply.

"As you wish. I shall cut right to the point. Abiga is about, my friend, and I hear she still has access to her old contacts. I'm unsure of exactly how long the woman has been back, I'm afraid." He fills the two glasses, taking a small sip of his before continuing. "This means, of course, that she will most certainly learn of your return to this city, if she hasn't already."

Skit's words take a few moments to fully register in his mind, but once they do, Cenric is almost certain his heart has stopped dead. Then it begins pounding. No. He drains his glass of whiskey in a single impressive gulp. It doesn't help. No no no no no. The beating in his chest is irregular, skipping a few beats and then compensating with a few too many. He feels dizzy. His hands shake. Sweat.

He refills his glass. Drains it.

Skit is uncharacteristically quiet while the panic settles in Cenric's mind. There's no aimless chatter to fill the silence, no embellished stories about his latest conquests, no complaining about that bloody merchant selling that beautiful doublet for far more money than it's worth.

Cenric feels sick, and a bit dazed. He wants to run. He won't. He has a client travelling to Limsa all the way from Thanalan, a client that presents possible opportunities. No, he will see this job finished, and then.. Well, he'll figure out what to do after.

"Okay," he nods. He can't think of anything else to say. "Try'n cover my tracks, will ye? Buy me some time. I've a job what needs doin'."

He just hopes it doesn't all blow up before then.

Skit's been gone a while, leaving Cenric to sit in furious, terrified thought. He's bathed and dressed now, smelling of the soft fragrance he always wears. He has just finished tightening the knot on his bandanna when his linkpearl sounds. He takes a deep breath before pressing his fingers to his left ear.

"Ah, Bart, isn't it? Can I call ye Bart? Wonderful," his voice is still slightly shaken. He wonders if it can be heard through the quietly hissing static. "Ain't sure where ye made land, so let's say... Hawkers' round? D'ya know where that is?"

Melkire · **08-01-2014, 11:43 PM**

"Bartolomeo Castille" glanced up at "Bolvi Blackblade" with a frown as the lift worked its magic. They were on their way to the lower decks now; he'd made it clear to Bolvi that they'd be passing old Baderon's establishment by. Not worth the risk of the Wench's proprietor recognizing either of them and giving the game away.Â

"H-hawkers'?" He yelled in a high pitch, determined to see to it that his voice would carry well above and beyond the noisy racket of the lift. "N-n-not unless you mean that alley with all of the, the, the disreputable types. Seems an awfully crowded place to meet, ser... n-n-not that I'm doubting you! Just... just... how are we to find you amidst all of... well... that?"

Raz · **08-01-2014, 11:59 PM**

Normally, Cenric would choose a quieter meeting spot. But Skit's words have made him uneasy. Paranoid, even. He has no intentions of being gutted in some piss-stinking alley by one of Abiga's thugs, so he'd left Skit with some clear instructions.

Wincing a little at the noise in his ear as he weaves his way through the bustling street, he replies. "'Tis best to meet first in public. No man or woman'll give ye a second glance. Follow the man- a Seeker, wearin' clothes that no other bugger 'round here can afford. You'll see him, trust me. Follow him, 'n he'll lead ye to my good self."

Perhaps he's being over-cautious, but he wasn't about to take any chances.

Melkire · **08-02-2014, 12:06 AM**

"We'll be seeing you shortly, then."

The lift stopped.Â

"Hawker's Alley, merchants' strip due west, follow the rich-as-shite Seeker," Bartolomeo whispered as the doors opened. "Be slow about it; I need to check for tails."

He let his head drop, drew his hood further forward and down, crossed his arms, hid each hand in the other's sleeve, and walked out the lift ahead of Bolvi, past the attending Yellowjacket at a brisk pace, robe billowing as he left his companion behind.

A moment later, he was gone, lost amidst the populace.

Erik Mynhier · **08-04-2014, 02:18 AM**

It had been months since Bolvi had touched foot in Limsa. He hated the humidity, the gulls, the accent. He had history here, history he would have rather left in the past. Here he was though, walking these streets, and here was his past again, catching up to him.

((Sorry for not posting in the last few days, just worked 2 20hr shifts))

Erik Mynhier · **08-04-2014, 12:26 PM**

Lips in the Quicksand were sweet, but loose. It did not take much for the flamboyant Elezen to piece together where Erik was going. One or two whispers from those who had been in the Goblet that morning and saw that "fancy little black" airship launch from the cliff under the Red Wing's base, heading west. The "Shadow" had been seen making ready for the last few days as well. Melkire would be with the Captain, he could be an issue, but nothing he couldn't handle.

The Elezen was merely an agent of interested parties. He made his way to the city of Limsa swiftly. On arrival he inquired about the Falcon but found nothing about it. They were here he was sure, but they would be cunning enough to hide it.

There was something off about this man. He spoke with his hands as much as his mouth, fingers pointed here and there. Sharp smiles and laughter, his humor nothing less then bizarre.

As he walked the streets he watched... listened... then a name, a word, a lead came..... Shadow, Cathal Lynn, South Docks. Ombre smiled as it came together. He made his way to the docks, he got here last, but he was not concerned with being quiet about a search, he would find this man, this Cathal Lynn first.

Rynn · **08-04-2014, 02:28 PM**

The man had short, wild and mopish hair. His face was smooth, holding only a few solitary freckles. The man was in his late twenties, but his appearance seemed almost of a young adult. He wore a white blouse with black pants. If one had walked past him in the streets, they would have never figured this man for a pirate captain. However, right now, it was perfectly clear that this man was Cathal Lynn. Men were scurrying all about him, loading supplies and cargo onto the rather imposing ship that sat on the waters.Â

"A'! Hurry up ya' damned waifs!" he shouted at them, directing the dozen or two men who were trying to load everything as quickly as possible. There were dozens of crates piled up on the dock. It was clear that the ship was getting ready to leave for a very long voyage.Â

The man turned, narrowing his eyes at the newcomers. He waved a hand to a younger lad who ran over. Cathal whispered something into his ear, and the lad whispered back. Nodding, Cathal ran a hand through his hair, sighing in annoyance. Slowly, he began to approach them. As he got closer, more was visible. He had bags under his eyes, and his very appearance was somewhat sickly.Â

"Are y'all the ones who've been askin' aroun' ab'ut me?"

Zhavi · **08-05-2014, 01:08 PM**

It was rare for Jacel to do anything on his own. The days where he hotfooted it about on someone else's errands were long behind him; when he personally went somewhere, it generally meant one of two things: one, that he was bored and saw the chance for some sort of profit or entertainment; and two, that someone had royally stepped in it.

Lale knew that Jacel expected someone to royally step in it. His directions had been clear, and veiled in his very typical cheerful gushing that did nothing to hide the very real threat underneath. Jacel was not what Lale considered to be a bad man. Given to tantrums? Yes. Given to harsh discipline? Yes. But not bad. All the same, everyone who served under him always got the sense of a string on the verge of snapping. Jacel was scary in a way that could not be defined -- there was no evidence that he should be considered a dangerous man, yet it was there all the same.

No one ever disappointed him twice. Not if they could help it.

There were always the rumors.

Lale, contrarily, was not scary. Not in the least. It was why he was one of Jacel's favorite errand boys. Tall, gangly, pale -- he was the sort of elezen who stood out for all the wrong reasons. People, most people, noticed him, and dismissed him all in one smooth motion, usually with some variant of pity. Lale was not handsome. He was awkward. His nose was far too big for his face, his mouth too wide. He had a tendency to squint, which made him look the part of some or other beastkin. His one saving feature was his hands. They were a pianist's hands -- fingers slender and well shaped. The only time he could be considered charismatic was when he was playing.

It was why he made an excellent choice for watching people. There was always a slightly befuddled air about him, as if he was almost, but not quite, lost. He was the sort people avoided going out of their way to help, because he looked as if once you gave him help he would cling endlessly -- and in a busy city like Limsa, no local wanted some gadabout clinging onto them while mewling for help.

But he could blend when he needed to, could dress and change his mannerisms to belong. He was Jacel's chameleon. Resourceful. Quick-thinking. Well-trained.

Jacel always liked his people well-trained.

Some days Lale thought he considered them his pets.

No matter. They'd their assignments. Jacel didn't always act immediately, but he was thorough. People had been sent to the entry points into the city. A few wandered.

Lale was following Raz. Had been keeping tabs on Raz ever since that day in the Wench when certain individuals had arranged jobs. Zhavi was a person of interest to Galine for very specific reasons. Raz was a person of interest for entirely different reasons. It was coincidental that Raz had run into Zhi first -- but it was also a boon. Galine tended to have business with Abiga. Lale knew information about Raz was valuable.

It was easy to be seen in Limsa Lominsa, but it wasn't easy to lose sight of someone in certain parts of the city; the necessity of bridges ensured that, at some point, people would be seen.

He lost sight of Raz, kept ambling forward. He would find the other man again, would follow him down to whatever stinking warren he ended at.

It was Lale's job not to screw up.

Generally speaking, Lale almost never screwed up.

« Next Oldest \| Next Newest »
Pages (5): « Previous 1 2 3 4 5 Next »

But strong in will.... (Open - OOC Welcomed)

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