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Zhavi · **03-30-2015, 11:22 AM**

Solitaire was in a mood.

He'd left a few times, had come back all the same. He hadn't gotten paid, it was very obvious to those who'd been there for the start and the end of it. He'd been intimidated and humiliated. It was the humiliation that was getting to him.

Another bell until the tavern closed, more or less, and most of the patrons there who'd seen him left alone had gone out the doors with knowing looks and sniggers to match. And yet, Solitaire had stayed, holding out on the chance the blighter might come back, and readying several vengeful solutions in case he didn't.

The roe's entrance back into the tavern was not met with any welcome, or much shift at all from the dour expression Solitaire had been wearing the last several, slow, boring bells he'd been waiting.

He was definitely in a mood.

"Y'have t'go to th' Twelveswood t'fetch yer coin?"

Goodfellow · **03-30-2015, 02:16 PM**

"Jus' shy of, feels like," Styrm said as he slumped back into the chair across the table and laid a bag on it, kicking up dust already settled in his absence.Â "Now, let's go meet Jo--"Â He ran his hands across his face then stared at the hyur. "Kink.Â We're off t'meet Kink.Â An' if we don't turn 'er up, we'll visit this Yaya-whosit character."

He caught a glimpse through tired eyes of the man's fraying patience.

"'Ey, chin up, man."Â He tapped the table.Â "Gil's tradin' hands an' t'night looks to be excitin'."

Zhavi · **03-31-2015, 11:35 AM**

Solitaire held up his hands, lips twisting into a sneer. "Hold on, ye ruttin' scrag, ain't nowhere did I tell ye I was trottin' along wi' ye t'find Kink. Y'want t'follow at me apron strings, that'll cost ye extra."

His expression was hard. It was the sort of hard that expected plenty of extra for all the time that had already been wasted.

Goodfellow · **03-31-2015, 10:51 PM**

"Shiva's icy teats, ye shite!Â Ain't fleeced me full enough fer one night?" he whined.Â He waved his hand dismissively, resigned.Â "Fine, 'at's not why we're jawin', anyroad.Â Stay er go, ye've wasted enough o' me moonlight an' I'll be takin' direction an' me leave, soon as ye unbutton that slobbery smirk ye're wearin'."Â He painted on a smirk of his own, droopy with exasperation.

Zhavi · **04-01-2015, 10:56 AM**

Solitaire shrugged, and quietly hoped the man never found Kink. Not for any love lost between him and the other streetrunner, but because the roe had the nerve to keep him tied up for hours waiting for the promise of a not-significant amount of money. Scrag deserved to get knifed.

"Her favorite haunt's The Highness," he began, ticking off each place she frequented when looking for a job, a score, or information. He also gave two of her hidey holes, though he did mention off-hand that that information was old news. "She ain't th'brightest," was his dismissal, following up with, "last, if she's out o' sorts, she might be found at th'Wench, but it ain't likely if she's runnin'."

He extended his hand with an imperious flourish, expectant.

Goodfellow · **04-06-2015, 08:20 PM**

Styrm knit his brow, exerting himself to commit each location to memory.Â When the man put his hand out, he stared at it in confusion.Â He pushed the bag on the table forward and rose to leave.Â "Ye best 'ope I find 'er, man.Â Like it or not, an' I certainly don't, yer the best lead I've got, ye are."Â He patted the man on the shoulder none too gently and moved to take his leave.Â

He wondered, out and about or tucked in somewhere?Â It was late, but this Kink didn't sound the sort to avoid the late hours.Â The Highness, the man had said.Â He'd start there.

Zhavi · **04-07-2015, 12:11 PM**

It hurt.

It was the kind of hurt that rattled you up and made you shaky, put you on high alert and kept you on your toes. It was the kind of hurt that made you feel high, that made every step conscious. It was unforgiving.

Brindle kept to the shadows. He was familiar with that kind of hurt, and knew what it meant; he'd come this close to getting killed. But this time, it wasn't his fault. It was Zhi's fault, because she hadn't done her part right. She'd tripped over something, and he weas the one to pay part of the price. He'd gone low, just like she'd told him to, but they were clever, had been more clever then they'd a right to. So, he'd run. Gone to the deepest, darkest corners he knew about. He'd missed his rendezvous with Zhi.

Now he waited, outside Highness, watching people come and go, listening to their chatter. He didn't look too bad, not as far as those things went; he didn't bruise easy (never had), and they hadn't gotten in much on his face. They weren't common thugs. Naw, it'd been something else entirely. Something he'd never come toe to toe with before. It'd shook him up something fierce.

He didn't know what to do but to keep watch, keep quiet, keep listening. He'd heard the rumors about Zhi, and he knew it wasn't safe to have anything to do with her right now. But what else was he gonna do? He'd little to show for himself, and he wasn't about to go crawling belly up to one of the ship crews or one of the gangs. Not yet. He wasn't that desperate yet.

He took a big breath, put his hands in his pockets, and strolled out of the shadows and up the gangplank to the old ship whose guts had been rearranged to make it a semi-respectable tavern. He'd sit and listen for awhile. It was what he was good at.

Goodfellow · **04-08-2015, 10:48 PM**

Styrmsthal Tyrbsyn neither knew nor cared what the hour was when he walked into the plank into the open berth of the Highness.Â He glanced around, taking in the none-too-thin crowd.Â There were all sorts, nothing unexpected, no one stood out.Â Old bald-pate codgers spitting rough words through missing teeth under bulbous noses red with drink; hard men safe for a night from the sea, flush with coin; whores full and flat, young and not-so-young, ripe and sour.Â Hells, one boy to the side held his ribs like they'd fall out otherwise.Â

Fresh beaten, that 'un.

He couldn't fathom where to start, so he started where they all must: the bartender.

"What'll it be?" the man asked him.

"A drink, so long as there's summut fer listenin'," he responded.

The barman grunted.Â "'Bout what?"

"'Bout Kink."

He served Styrm a drink.

Zhavi · **04-21-2015, 12:05 PM**

"Kink."

It was the only word Brindle heard, and he couldn't help stiffening in reaction. He smoothed that over, ducked his head, buried himself in the drink he wasn't really drinking (he needed to stay sober). He wasn't sitting anywhere, not with the room crowded like it was; wasn't no need to. He could move about underfoot, and folk would think he was getting brassy, looking for purses to cut. They'd think him downer, and needing to be fed. They wouldn't think he was listening, always listening -- cept for them few what knew him.

"Whatta 'bout Kink?" The barman replied, gruff and grizzled, long past caring about the shuffling of streetside power politics that ebbed and flowed around lowtown.

Brindle settled against the bar two seats down from the roe, out of direct sight, his mug clenched in both hands. He was a skinny lad, Brindle was, fresh off another growth spurt. Five fulms, and six ilms: Zhi had told him once he was going to be too big to be any use climbing the city, and he'd sworn to prove her wrong. He needed to prove her wrong, for more'n just that.

He knew folk were looking for her.

He was gonna find her first.

Goodfellow · **04-23-2015, 11:22 PM**

"Oh thank the gods," Styrm muttered.Â Here was another man without the patience for all the slinking and the bullshit that one waded through in lowtown.Â He'd have to come back another night to get properly drunk with the old codger, but tonight wasn't the night.Â "Lookin' fer the girl, heard tell she's not unknown t'this lot.Â Trouble loves her, he does, an' it's better I'm the one what finds 'er first."

He nodded at the space before him at that.Â The man looked like to talk, so he'd have that drink.Â Deal's a deal an' drink's a drink.

Zhavi · **05-01-2015, 06:31 PM**

The space was soon filled, though as the barman worked, he talked. Muttered, really, almost below the general level of noise. "Been askin' questions, scrag she is. Surprised she ain't got slit yet. Lass's dealin' somethin'. Whatever 'tis, 's hot. There's a lad ye'll be wantin' t'corner."

And there he paused. Cleared his throat. Sure, he didn't play no power games, but he did like his transactions.

Goodfellow · **05-05-2015, 10:40 PM**

With every new detail he learned, Styrm wanted to yell.Â What in th'ells 'ave ye got yerself into, Jozzie? he thought in silent lament.

"There's a lad ye'll be wantin' t'corner," he heard the barman say and his hands clenched reflexively around his mug.Â In a quieter room, a quiet crack would have been heard; not so much as to shatter and spill, but the glass would leak.Â Styrm took a swig and wiped his wet hand on his pants.Â He had littler money than he'd like after Solitaire's fleecing, but he removed what remained to him and slid it across the bar.

"Aye?Â Who's 'at an' what hole's he hidin' in?"

Zhavi · **06-18-2015, 04:18 PM**

A miqo'te near Styrm edged slightly away, ears flicking back and forth. Not quite insensitive to the moods and natures of his patrons, the barman smiled as congenially as he could. Given the nature of his face, any smile he mustered up couldn't much scrape past ugly, but he had his ways of making clear that he didn't want trouble.

The gil was accepted and tucked away, and a new mug of some cheap swill procured and placed in front of Styrm.

The fact that the lad was sitting so close meant that the barman had to lean close to Styrm, close enough that the foulness of his breath would wash across the roe's face -- unless he chose to lean away. "Th'lad. Goes by Brindle, he does. Care not t'spook him; e's a quick one, 'e is." Carefully, he indicated Styrm's left, where only one lad sat amidst the mess of patrons.

Brindle showed no sign of hearing, though tension remained in him as he sat.

Goodfellow · **06-18-2015, 05:14 PM**

Styrm had been assaulted the whole long night with foul smells and fouler.Â He breathed through his mouth and inclined his head to hear the barkeep's whispers.Â "Brindle, eh?" he whispered back, not yet venturing to look to his left.Â "Say I sit with th'lad, he like t'try an' run off on me?"

Zhavi · **06-18-2015, 06:55 PM**

The bartender shrugged, his own disinterest in the situation made clear by the dimming of his smile. He had his coin, and he had given his information for it. "Yer own choice, mate. Mebbe, mebbe not."

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