Streetside Jive (Request)

[Zhavi]

Location: Limsa Lominsa

 

A newly established smuggling ring of heavily regulated alchemical components (due to their tendency to emit toxic fumes when not rendered just right -- toxic fumes that when condensed into liquid and mixed with certain leaf pulp form an addictive and eventually deadly drug) is on the brink of being broken by Limsa's older and more heavily established criminal groups.

 

The smuggling ring, headed by one Fikker Roust and known simply as Fikker's Crew, has been aware of the rising tensions. They have hired on several thugs and scoundrels to guard their ships and officers, and through the Jiver's Den have lost a few of these thugs to the competition by way of bribery. Fikker's Crew stands to be crushed by their competition.

 

 

Information: The Jiver's Den is an informal haven of knaves and scoundrels, political upstarts and the socially malcontent. It is not a where so much as it is a who -- a circus of the underbelly freaks who haunt Limsa Lominsa's lesser known doorways and dockholes. They gather near every night, using word of mouth to collect their rogues, each location different from the last. It is not particularly a secretive operation, but even so it is not widely known among those who walk a straighter path. For those who are crooked, they only have to ask the right ear.

 

It is in the Jiver's Den that deals are made and broken, ideas spread, illegal papers collected and disseminated. It is here that this thread takes place.

 

Player roles:

 

Feel free to be whatever. A member of an established group, a freelancer, an observer, a member of Fikker's Crew, Fikker himself. . .whatever goes.

 

All I ask is that you keep it real and don't abandon the thread without saying something. A straight laced character is not likely to find the Jiver's Den, a loyal member of Fikker's Crew is not likely to be hobnobbing it with the opposition (unless he or she is spying), stuff like that. Please post at least once every few days, and send me a pm if you're ducking out.

 

Have fun!

 

edit - so we're able to work people in better, please post here if you want to join: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=555

[Zhavi]

The moonlight was a fey and curious presence, casting cool shadows that caught at Vijako's attention and held it at odd, dazed intervals.

 

"Dint hire ya fer desertion!"

 

The voice came from above and slightly behind her, and she blinked rapidly at the sweet, pale light that illuminated dark stains on the gritty, rough ground of the alley. Dark corners leered at her, breathing rotten vapors that smelled of fish offal and waste. Her nose had already been rubbed in it. She struggled to rise, hip bursting fireworks into her consciousness, and under her flat spread fingertips was something slimy and wet over the stone. It stung. She spat blood; another viscous liquid to tango with the unidentifiable muck already there. The alleys could use a good rain, she decided.

 

"'Ey!"

 

Then a shin connected with the side of ribs that didn't hurt, and suddenly her whirling thoughts focused without exception on the second by second detail of how much her present situation sucked.

 

"No pay. . .no stay. I'd got no gil!" Vijako's strangled voice erupted from her.

 

"I tole ya nex' moon! Ya paid half, with orders ta stay solid, an' where I find ya?"

 

His words were punctuated by another prodding foot, and with a hiss her hands skittered out from under her, and she felt the already split skin tear further. She knew this, but it didn't hurt just yet. Godspit, it was by reflex alone that it was her cheekbone that took the brunt of her head smacking against the ground, and not her nose. Her indrawn hiss of pain sounded too aggressive, and her reward was another snap of her tormentor's leg, this one landing on the hip that already hurt.

 

She saw lightbursts that had nothing to do with the moon.

 

"Jiver's Den." His voice was disgusted now, but she was concentrating too hard on her whimpering breaths to pay much mind. She was trying to focus, and could only see one of her hands in front of her, splotched with greasy oil and sticky spatters of some foreign liquid. Her hands had been mostly clean at early moonrise. Soon they would begin seeping blood. The nerves in her skin were too shocked to begin hurting. Yet.

 

Impersonal fingers put an unwelcome pressure at the base of her back, and travelled up and down with an ease that bespoke practice. She was flipped onto her back, and they continued their journey, pausing only when the treasure, her treasure, was found and swiftly divested. Even as shockstruck as she was, she knew it was now no longer hers. She felt a trickle of something curve a path down her chin, but she couldn't be arsed to lift one of her hands to wipe it. Everything was raw and pulsing the promise of a greater pain come dawn.

 

She could assume the only reason she was still alive was that her double cross for higher pay hadn't been seen through. She was being beaten for desertion, not betrayal. That was cold relief.

 

She lay there, dazed, for an untold amount of time after the member of Fikker's Crew had left. The moon was preparing to disappear, but she knew she had to get back to the Jiver's Den soon, to tell the new masters of her fate what had transpired. Her body was crying out for rest, and she only gave a token effort to rising before the pain forced her moaning back flat against the sticky ground. Tomorrow. She would find the Jiver's Den again the next night.

 

She slept where she lay.

[Nikolai]

The following morning, the sun shone bright in the clear blue sky as the hooded figure of Fejar wandered about the city, a long pole strapped to his back. He stopped occasionally to ask for directions from random passersby, but he had no real destination: he merely wished to learn the layout of this new city he was to reside in for the time being. He continued his wanderings until he happened to stumble upon an unexpected sight: a miqo'te woman, body battered and beaten, lying in an alleyway in a pool of what was likely her own blood.

 

"Perhaps I would do well not to linger here," the young miqo'te man thought to himself.

He stared down the alleyway, pondering. Could she be dead? She may be in dire need of medical attention; he could even provide such attention, but there was too much he didn't know. He knew this place was a haven for pirates, and helping this woman may later put himself in her position. Besides, she looked tough; far heartier than he. Still, he could not ignore it.

 

Resolving to inform a guard, Fejar hurried off in search of one. Finding an authoritative-looking man with little trouble, he stammered, "S-ser! In an alleyway a few yalms yonder, a woman lies beaten near to death..."

The guard he had found looked reliable. There was, in fact, nothing about the look of him to suggest otherwise; he was very well-kept, his face was assuring, and his shining armor glinted gracefully in the morning sun. Fejar was certain that he had made the right decision.

"Right. Lead the way, then," the man replied certainly; so certainly that Fejar could not help but wonder just how often this sort of thing occurred...

 

Having led the man back to the scene, Fejar stood watch at the end of the alleyway, satisfied, but still curious. The guard calmly approached the woman where she lay, and kneeling over her, examined her, rather less certainly asking, "Lass, can you hear me? Open your eyes," prompting Fejar to call after, "Will she be alright?"

[Zhavi]

Daytime was never a favorite of the Keepers, and so it was for Vijako. Though perhaps she'd gone to sleep earlier than normal the past night -- and in a rather unusual and uncomfortable location -- she was too battered to wake easily. Indeed, the street brats who had gone through her pockets at the cusp of dawn had found her unusually easy prey, even for someone who'd been kicked a few too many times.

 

She murmured something incomprehensible as the guard carefully prodded her. It was in everyone's best interests that she get up after all; it was hardly good for the city's economy if the well-to-do started seeing bodies in the alleys everywhere. It wasn't exactly an image that pleased the bureaucrats, and it fairly horrified the merchants.

 

"Wazzat suns 'en. . .'urts. . .go 'way. . ." But the guard was persistent despite her reluctance to be conscious, and with a good nature that may or may not have been manufactured he reassured the miqo'te in the alley's mouth. It was about then that Vijako peeled her eyelids up enough to see her presumed rescuer, and her face immediately tightened in unhappiness.

 

She forced herself up, scowling and wincing, and stared at the ground as she spoke to the guard. "'Mfine. I'll move. Leave off."

 

She tried to wipe the stickiness of her hands off on her breeches and found that the action lit fire all over her palms. She made an involuntary sound, ears flattened, but managed to swallow a growl. She started to stagger to her feet, but was too dizzy to make it far before she teetered sideways and ran into the alley wall with her shoulder, smearing herself with the moldy growth that clung to it. Gods above, she reeked.

[FF14-Tomcat]

(oops sorry, just realised I had posted too late. Deleted the post, will think of something later- going to bed.)

[DAISHI]

The Leader pushed up his spectacles along his nose, flush to his face, a dissatisfied scowl marking his features. "Maybe you want me to congratulate you on killing Galatius? We were here on business, Maestro. Now you've put us at war with One-Eye." His fingers wrapped tightly into a fist. "How are we supposed to do that here, in Limsa Lominsa? All of our power is in Ul'dah. We simply don't have the manpower to fight back here. It's not just One-Eye we have to worry about, either. The city watch is looking out for us now. You don't think that people didn't report us for starting that brawl? What about the fact that I contributed to the fire that nearly extinguished the Bismarck?"

 

The bald headed Maestro, in one of his lucid states, only stared back at the Leader, his eyes cold. "Do you think I need a reason to kill a man, Tervanius?" His fingers drummed the table exactly once. "No. I wouldn't think yourself so important, either, that I would shed tears if you were."

 

"I don't deceive myself into thinking you would, however, if you really want to expand into this area there are certain things that need to be done. You can't come here with Goobbue and I and expect to start tearing the place apart. Again, we don't have the force."

 

"Well then we hire the force!" Maestro shouted, slamming his fist down on the table. "That's the whole purpose we run the casinos and sell the drugs and run the weapons. To put a little excitement in the locals."

 

The Leader sighed, his fingers rising to his forehead, squeezing at the bridge of his nose. "Alright then. You're looking to hire. In a city that is mostly slaved to One-Eye."

 

"Greed moves men, Tervanius. They'll go to the highest bidder. I'm willing to bet there are plenty of people in this city selling their services elsewhere than One-Eye's racket." A grin crossed his face, madness dancing just beyond sanity in his eyes. "I'm right, and I think you know where we can hire."

 

"Perhaps," the Leader said, glancing upward at the roof of their room. "You know it too."

 

"Jiver's Den," Maestro said, his finger sliding to his chest, extracting a lengthy blade. "But I'm in it to play two sides of the game, Tervanius. I want men. Brutal. Willing to do anything for coin. I also want in on that drug ring."

 

"Too risky. If Fikker's Crew finds out that you're trying to hire out their muscle at the same time that you're trying to buy from their ring..."

 

The madness in Maestro's eyes flared. "They'll what, Tervanius? Come after me?" He slammed the knife down into the table, its sharpened edge slicing cleanly through to the handle. "Let 'em. They can chase me all the way to One-Eye's door and then we can let them slice each other's throats up." He narrowed his gaze with the Leader's, eyes slightly close, his voice hissing with a snake's threat. "I want those drugs though, and I want those men, and I'm going to have them."

 

The Leader nodded, looking aside to the sleeping Goobbue, all eight feet and seven hundred pounds of him. "Let me handle the business end. I'll establish a line of business with Fikker. Goobbue will go with me, show we're serious."

 

"So you're leaving me to the scoundrels?" His smile widened, teeth grit against each other. "I love this plan, Tervanius. I think we're going to put on a real big show in this town."

[Nikolai]

The guard winced empathetically at the woman's evident pain. "No, you are not fine. We need to touch you to the aetheryte." Looking back to Fejar, he called, "You there; can you help me carry her?"

 

As the miqo'te woman crashed into the alley wall, it had become clear to Fejar that she was indeed in sore need of attention. Resolutely, he announced, "I can do one better." Hastily, he joined the guard at her side. His figure looming over hers, he requested calmly, "Just hold still..."

 

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, retrieved his pole from his back, and began to mutter unintelligibly under his breath. As he focused upon the pole and channeled his energy through it, it glowed a deep green with an otherworldly warmth. Finishing the spell, that warm glow was then transferred into the body of the girl. It was eerily soothing. Slowly, bruises began to fade, and wounds began to mend themselves, as if naturally, but quickened.

 

It was then that Fejar realized that, the entire time, something had been attacking his nostrils. Good Gods, she reeked! He took a few steps back involuntarily. Hesitantly, he prompted the girl, "How do you feel...?"

[Zhavi]

"N--" Her tail went rigid as she realized what they were doing, but it wasn't as if she could resist them. Godspit, she was stuck somehow with the compassionate, and it almost made her laugh at how naive they were.

 

They hadn't helped her in the least. It was tradition in the lower bowels of the city that if you were beaten you let it heal naturally, or at least left the visible signs. If you did not, they who harmed would find and return for another. And every time you spat in their faces by healing it, they'd figure out other ways to make it stick. The worst part was that she herself was capable of healing and shielding others from harm; she hadn't done so because what she'd endured the night before would be nothing compared to what they might inflict next.

 

But she couldn't say that to the guard, or to the other one. Though the guard likely knew it, by admitting she'd been beaten for aiding in underground conflict she'd as much as take herself to the skags and lock shut the door behind her. And she still had to go to the Jiver's Den, and to do that looking healthy and fit would be close to suicide.

 

She pushed away from the wall, the guard, and Fejar. "Like as never hurt." She muttered. That was exactly the case. He'd reset Fikker's Crew's need to make an example out of her. She tried not to look at the guard, inwardly combating her exhaustion as she considered places that would be of use as a bolthole until the evening when she'd need to find the new location of the Den. "I'll off t'find meself a rinser now. . ." She bobbed her head agreeably to the two, and began to sidle away, resisting the urge to furiously scratch her belly. Without looking, she knew she'd been infested with fleas, again.

 

((I made a thread here viewtopic.php?f=5&t=555 for ooc shiz, I'm hoping Tomcat will let us know when he wants to jump in >> ))

[Nikolai]

"Well hold on, now," the guard maintained, "What happened here? I'll need to file a report in regards to the happenings here; I'll need both of your names, and for you both to tell me anything and everything you know. Leave nothing out. Understood?"

 

"Fejar," the young man replied, nodding. He removed his hood and brushed his bronze hair from his eyes, which promptly settled back into his face, seemingly of its own volition. His sharp, brown eyes wide, he looked to the girl, and continued, "I discovered her lying there," then looking back to the guard, "no more than a few minutes prior to seeking your aid."

 

"... That's all?" By the tone of his voice, the guard must have expected him to know more. He was notably less warm in demeanor now. Fejar simply nodded. The guard slowly nodded back, then looked to the girl, and asked, "Very well then, let's hear your side of the story, shall we?"

[FF14-Tomcat]

What a waste, what a waste.

 

The Lalafell gingerly scooped up the blood from where the Mi'qote woman had laid, being careful not to break the illusion the sprinkling of Prism Powder had bestowed upon him. He filled up a vial with the precious liquid, relying mostly on touch to stopper the vessel. He groped around his own waist to locate his waist pouch, then slipped the newly filled vial safely inside. Satisfied with his scavenging, he stood up slowly to look at the impromptu interrogation happening at the entrance to the alleyway. No one has noticed him yet.

 

"Let's see what else can be made of this, shall we?" he mused to himself as he made his way towards the entrance. He had to do it as quietly as he could; he forgot an application of Silent Oil. He theorised that the noses of the two cats might be overpowered by the overwhelming reek from the alleyway, but he had to move as quietly as he could. He successfully evaded the flailing gestures of the guard and random tail swipes of the

cats to make it to the other side of the alleyway, away from the entrance. He stepped into the shadow of a tree, shook off his Prism Powder coating, then deftly approached the group of three standing at the entrance.

 

The Hyur guard was questioning the woman, "... your side of the story, shall we?"

 

"Might be poor listening, no?" the Lalafell announced his arrival, at the same time pressing a small package into the guard's palm. "I help, yes?"

 

"Sweeper." The guard scowled as he recognised the Lalafell. His tone carried with it a mixture of contempt, fear and maybe relief. Madin 'Sweeper' Madin had a reputation with the guard in these parts; simply because he has a habit of making their duties easier when dead bodies and the like were found in the alleyways such as this.

 

"You no mind, and remember, yes?" Madin made a broad gesture to include the alleyway and the two Mi'qote and himself. The guard stood still, seemingly undecided, he surreptiously placed his new gift by the Lalafell into his belt.

 

Madin let the guard do his deciding. He is sure the guard will do something sensible.

He looked at the the rest of his new companions, revealing his pinkish, gem-like eyes. He motioned to the male.

 

"Gentleman, you are, yes? All the way, yes?" With this, he procured a vial from within his pouch. On it was labelled 'Deodoriser'. "Gift for ladee, no? 500 gil, yes?" He pointed to the woman.

 

And to the woman he said, "Unfortunate circumstances, no? Makeup I give you, yes?" With this he gestured to a scar that he had on his right arm. "Return favors, maybe, yes?" He stared at the Mi'qote woman.

[Zhavi]

Vijako was distressed, but she managed to keep her tail down to twitching. Her ears remained flat on her head. She didn't like where the mess was going at all. Why did there have to be a guard? They were never around when she could use them, but they always seemed to appear at the very worst moments to complicate what would otherwise be simple. And the lalafell. . .though the name 'Sweeper' seemed familiar somehow, Vijako was certain she'd not met the man before. His arrival and presence were suspicious, but he couldn't do wrong by her with the guard standing there. Especially not if she was the victim.

 

"No need a poxy trinkets. Rinser n' sleep'll do me. Go by Ko, n' got fair drummed in a mugging, alright."

 

The lalafell, she decided, might be of use. She recognized the street legitimacy in him, and if he was peddling items in that sort of alley. . .she rubbed her face self-consciously. She forced her ears partway up, though they flicked towards everyday noises out past the mouth of where they were standing. "Need a good place t' sleep. That I'll be a taker for, favors n' such."

 

She slid a glance towards the guard, tense.

[DAISHI]

The grinding stone. Maestro delighted in it, delighted in it as much as he did in chess or murder. It was a simple device, a wheel-like device that rotated in place, sat upright, against which a man put the curve of his blade. The high pitched squealing of the metal wrecked havoc on the ears, but Maestro loved it, seeing the edge of the blade growing sharper and sharper,the point refined so that it would cut through a man as easily as through butter. His palm lay against the flat of the blade, turning it at just the right angle, allowing the knife to strike the stone so that it sharpened without breaking.

 

It grew loud enough that the mammoth Goobbue startled awake and, gripping his malformed head, rose upwards. At seven feet tall he nearly touched the roof of their room overlooking the nearby waterline, and the sun pouring in offended the newly-awakened giant's eyesight. He groused as he looked away, finding Maestro there, turning his blades onto the grinding stone.

 

"So glad to see you alive," Maestro said with a grin, waving the knife in the direction of the large, deformed Hyur. "We've got work for you, you know. Or the Leader does, whatever. Not like I need your help." His smile spread over his face, teeth like daggers cut against each other. "Not getting started til it's real late though. Why don't you head outside and get some food? I know you're hungry."

[FF14-Tomcat]

Madin did a mental frown as he fingered his mustache.

 

The woman rejected his offer? My my. She is either unaware of the harm the male mi'qote has done her by him healing her of her wounds or she is being touchy. Wounds caused by beatings in these parts do not just disappear. And that thug last night was one of Fikker's. But, wait...wait, did she say she wanted a bath and a safehouse? Ah. She is not that muddled after all. He can still get her in his debt.

 

"Makeup, no. No?" he addressed the woman. "Ah, bed and bath, I know good place. I help you, yes? Yes?"

 

As he said this, he narrowed his eyes irritatingly at Todd still appearing to make some obscure moral decision.

Will he get over playing the role of good and responsible guard already? Just leave already. He waited for the woman to respond.

 

He turned to the man-cat, and thrust the bottle of deodoriser into his hands. Maybe he can still make that 500 gil by fishing some chivalry out of him. "For ladee, yes? Good way you make friends, no? See, smell nice, no?" Saying this, he sprayed some sample of the deodoriser in the air.

[Nikolai]

"Ah? Oh, oh dear..." Fejar faltered, fumbling the bottle slightly. "I... Well, I simply cannot afford it." He said with a grimace, and attempted to hand the bottle back. "I am embarked upon a..." he paused, "pilgrimage of sorts. Although, I, too, could use lodging..."

 

Guard Todd sighed. He really did not like this at all. "Well, Sweeper," he began with a subtle hint of contempt, "it sounds as though you have things under control here, and I suppose I have no reason to suspect either of the two of you of foul play, so I just have one more question and then I must return to my post. Miss-- Ko, was it? Were you able to identify your assailant? Any features you could give me would assist greatly in the location and apprehension of the criminal."

 

He hated it. No reason to suspect either of them my ass. He knew how the city worked; she had done something to deserve that beating. The arrival of the Sweeper only added to his suspicions, but it was clear he would not receive any information from them that could lead to a conviction of any sorts. He wondered what it was that the bottle contained, though. He would check it out later. For now, he resolved to simply finish his report and be away; he was wasting his time here, but perhaps he could yet track the attacker. One criminal off the streets was better than none.

[Zhavi]

The urge for Viko to place a few fingers at her temple was almost, almost overbearing. "Was dark, yeah, big 'un took me from behind. Dint see none." She licked her lips and attempted a smile, sour as it might be. "Need t' be restin' -- rough night." She looked down at the shorter lalafell, and made a subtle get moving gesture with her hand.

 

"I'd be wishin' t' help ya, real gaffin', but no chance t' look with 'im kickin' so hard." She gave the guard one last falsely sincere grimace, and turned back to Sweeper. She was sure eager to get out of there.

[FF14-Tomcat]

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]

"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]

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]

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]

"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]

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]

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]

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]

"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]

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?"