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

[Erik Mynhier]

((Continued from here.))

 

Erik found himself in his chamber soon. Montblanc had done what he was told, the Falcon sat ready to launch. Erik dressed in clothing more suited to Limsa. Erik felt a bit shamed by having to think so long to remember Holly's life.... he really had loved her. He remembered her brother, Cathal, but Erik's network of informants ended on the Island, finding him would be difficult. Unlike Thanalan and the Shroud, Erik knew few people in Limsa. Osric seemed to know people, but Erik felt naked walking into the unknown. He had to know if this child was real. If those he was fighting knew who it was there would have been more details in the book. No assuming they were real, the Vipers only knew they lived, they had not found them..... yet. He would beat them to them.

[Melkire]

Kink could go rut in a ditch for all he cared.

 

He'd gone ahead to Limsa a few suns ago, tried to pave the way, enlist a certain streetrunner and her resources. Erik was a gadabout, and Osric was a wanted man. He couldn't leave the captain to his own devices - too much could go wrong too quickly, for those who weren't native - but neither could he accompany him in broad daylight and give the highlander a tour. So they needed a runner. Someone with connections. Someone with information. Someone who could walk Erik around while Osric followed them discretely from a distance.

 

Contacting Yayabuko for any potential hires would only cause more trouble and earn him more ire from that gods-damned Keeper; there was too much tension there already for him to risk any more. That particular chain was far too close to the breaking point. Another ponze of pressure and it would snap. Had very nearly snapped the other night.

 

"Dog"? Like hells. "Come t'heel?" Lass, I just got done with that shite. As if I'd snap another collar 'round m'neck and hand YOU the leash. Work for you? Hah! Y'haven't earned that distinction, y'coeurl.

 

He'd crossed enough palms with gil that night, on the way out, to know who to fall back on should she refuse him: another streetrunner, one who had a history with ol' Sparrow. A rival. One Cenric Amaril, better known as "Raz". He had doubled back the very next sun to meet with the man, and had found him suitable.

 

Time to get going.

 

He opened up the armoire and drew out one piece of clothing after another. Woolen shirt. Pants. Raptorskin armguards and leg guards. A bandana. One after the other, he pulled them on. Then came the steel. Knives for throwing. Daggers and dirks for stabbing. All of it for cutting. Each sheath secreted away on his person, hidden from sight, six in total. 

 

He picked up and threw his rucksack over his shoulder - Red Wings uniform, Flames uniform, hempen robe-and-cowl; various items of utility; personal effects - walked over to the bed, dropped a letter on his pillow, and leaned over to kiss a sleeping Kanaria on the cheek. He'd be keeping her linkpearl on him at all times; he refused to break contact these days. Too much could go wrong too quickly.

 

Out and into the hallway he went, pulling the door to their room gently to a close behind him. He locked it with his key - he'd given her a spare - before walking down the hallway, turning a corner, and coming to a stop at the captain's quarters.

 

He knocked on the door.

 

"Boss? Ready when you are."

[Kanaria Melkire]

Tired, so tired, barely any sleep for two weeks would do that to someone. Deep in her much needed sleep, she'd not felt him stir nor get slip out from beside her. Quiet, he was so quiet she not even heard him pull open the creaky armoire door.  The fair haired one was too lost to her dreams to even realize her love was leaving. 

 

 

A soft sweet smile came to the warm kiss to her cheek, but still she did not stir. Not until it was to late, she rolled over and flopped her arm over what should have been Osric but found bed. Lids flicked open to stare at the empty bed beside her, now wide awake. 

 

 

Her heart sank when lavenders caught sight of the letter left on the pillow, he'd done it again. Was he back to this? Leaving her alone to go gallivanting? Especially when they had promised one another that they would face everything together. Or was this one of those that she couldn't? Like his talk with Roen... 

 

 

A soft sigh escaped her as she reached for the letter with a shaky hand, sliding it from the pillow over to her. Kanaria swallowed hard looking it over. She wanted to know, but didn't at the same time. There was a good possibility he'd be getting himself into trouble once again, and if that was the case she would want to be there. 

 

 

Envelope opened, lavender eyes read over the note within. "Nn... You bastard..." Spoken softly, she chuckled after and shook her head. At least he was with Erik so he'd be safe for a time... Right? Maybe... 

 

 

No rest for the wicked. Well there wouldn't be any later anyway, for now she clutched the note in one hand and drew her right hand up to her ear. "Ossy..." She paused to let him respond. "I know you want me to, but for your and his sake, I'll be staying here. Please keep me updated though, since you don't know exactly what's going on. The "Keepers" are also in Limsa if you need them and in the family linkshell." 

 

 

He probably wouldn't like the idea of the sisters helping him, but they could be there quicker than she could at the moment if the need did arise. "Thank you, I love you too... Stay safe..." With her parting words she threw the covers off and proceeded to call the "Keepers" to let them in on what was going on, should that need arise...

 

 

The letter also spoke of rolanberry cheesecake, a bribe for her to stay put? Quite possibly. She wouldn't be going anywhere till that was gone... 

 

 

Breakfast! 

 

 

He was good, a little too good. 

[Erik Mynhier]

Erik had learned long ago, pack light. Luggage denoted station, and was often noticed. His hooded cloak would do well enough, his sword and shield hidden beneath, as was the very small bag slung over his shoulder. In the bag he carried a set of comfortable clothes, Ombre's notebook, he would continue to study it, daily essentials, and documents proving himself a Flame and Sultansworn. Hearing the knock at the door, he grabbed the last of his thing, shut off the lights and opened the door, "I am indeed Osric."

[Melkire]

The door opened on darkness, and the silhouette within nearly gave Osric a heart attack.

 

I keep forgetting how gods-damned tall he is.

 

He nodded to the captain and stepped back, affording the highlander room to clear the doorframe and step into the hallway. He cleared his throat as Erik turned to close the door; they had a lot to discuss, a lot of ground to cover, and not nearly enough time to do so. Best get started.

 

"Beggin' y'pardon, ser, but I think it best that I brief you on the move."

 

They started back up the hallway, headed for the lobby. Osric fielded questions as they walked, Erik falling into stride and then gradually overtaking his subordinate, forcing the midlander to double-time it to keep the pace.

 

"First and foremost, you'll be needing an alias. The less the locals learn about you, the better. Twelve forbid they learn who and what we are, as that'd close off so many avenues, shut so many doors... ain't worth the risk. I'll leave the name to you, ser, but make it a good one, please. The more merchant-soundin', the better."

 

His voice shifted as they turned one last corner and spotted the lobby down the hall, took on a tone of deference and respect that he hadn't used since Halatali. That came as a surprise, and he couldn't help but stammer as they approached a certain door...

 

"J-just a moment, ser."  

 

Hells is wrong with me?

 

He swung his rucksack around, opened a zipper and pulled forth a folded piece of parchment before hoisting the bag back onto his shoulder. He sped up a tad as he did so, moving ahead of Erik just enough to quickly kneel and slip the note - no letter, this time - under Kahn'a's door before falling back into line.

 

THE BOSS AND I ARE OFF TO LIMSA FOR A FEW SUNS. WE HAVE OUR PEARLS. MAN THE FORT. - SHADOW

 

He glanced up at the captain, saw the man nod, and resumed speaking, his native accent gradually slipping back into his voice as he loosened up, as he prepared himself mentally for the journey. He recalled each and every stone and plank and tankard and whore that he had ever experienced. He called up Dirk Problemsolver to the forefront.

 

"M'first choice in an information broker fell through. Alias 'Kink'. She didn't want t'deal; has a bit o' history with m'self. Long story short, had t'fall back on m'second choice. Man's alias is 'Raz'. He's another streetrunner - what you'd call an informant. I've arranged for you two t'meet, though time 'n' place ain't set yet. Don't dare be seen with you on the streets, so him 'n' his'll be showin' y'round. Bastard wanted carte blanche from the 'client'. Gonna haggle'm down to a hefty sack o' gil and a single favor from me wit' line veto, courtesy a knife t'his throat."

 

They passed into the lobby, and Osric lifted a hand and two fingers in greetings to the Seeker at the front desk. "Buttons." He walked over, reached around, pulled the bottom drawer of the desk open, and lifted a small tote bag from within. "Apologies."

 

The bag had been Askier's; Osric had filled it with the medical supplies and instructions that Alexei had left them, after thoroughly inspecting, scrounging through, and emptying the bag. It belonged to an explosives specialist, after all. Hells, one could probably set a light to it and watch the blasted thing go up in flames and smoke.

 

He threw the tote bag over his other shoulder as he walked back over to Erik, dug at a pocket, and came up with a tiny green linkpearl. A spare, not the the original he had now in his right ear. He held the spare pearl up to the captain.

 

"This bein' a network of contacts what took me moons t'put together. Ain't as extensive as it was 'fore the runt forced me t'hand it off t'Sizzie for a while, but the framework's still there. Linkshell ain't secure: damned thing has all sorts o' unsavory types on it. Criminals, Garleans, the works. But. They're all competent, they use each other when they need to, and if'n y'need a question answered, more oft than not they can answer it. Know that I'm givin' y'this so y'can listen in. Ain't safe for you of all folks t'use it; at best, they'd all get cold feet and leave me hangin' dry. And a warnin'... I left a pearl with Kink. As bait."

 

He hefted it in his hand.

 

"Take it."

[Erik Mynhier]

Erik took the pearl, slipping it into his pocket. As he spoke his voice sounded like gravel, low, deep, and rumbling, not the gentle voice he was afforded by his mother's lineage, this was a true Ala Mhigan's voice, complete with accent, rolling his "r"s and "th"s, "You are correct in your plan to offer different names. In such cases I have used the alias Bolvi Blackblade." he said as he drew his blade, "This was my father's sword, but my grandfather's before. He was called "The Blackblade" because of this blade, made from cobalt. The name is even engraved on the sword. Will that be convincing enough do you think?"

[Melkire]

Osric slowly stepped backwards as he gave Erik a shite-eating grin that was half man and half predatory canine. "Aye, that'll do. Reckon I can work with that. Was goin' t'pass ye off as some Syndicate man, but lookin' at the gear... no question 'bout it. We're going fer Resistance smuggler 'n' crime lord. Y'deal in arms, but y'front it as precious metals. 'Cover story'... lookin' fer some cousin's relation. Y'owe him a debt, see, and y'don't like debts. Make y'rankle. Leave y'pissed." He nodded to himself. "Aye. Stories work best in layers."

 

He held up a finger.

 

"No roughin', tumblin', or consortin' with jacks or serps. Next t'last thing we're wantin' is local authority slowin' us down."

 

He pivoted on one heel and reached for the front door's handle.

 

"Off t'Vesper 'n' the ferry, aye?"

[Zhavi]

Having your face shoved against a wall was a helluva way to start the morning.

 

"Fyrilsolkn," she muttered, one cheek flat against it. The name came out mushed. "Always good t'. . .nnn. . .see ye."

 

His hands were traveling up and down her body. He didn't respond. He came up with nothing. As if she'd be so stupid as to hide weapons when she was visiting Galine. She'd brought her dagger, had laid it into Fyril's partner's hand. Abartoum. Also a bucket of moonshine.

 

The two men weren't related, but they were well matched. Tanned, ruggedly handsome, they kept their silences and moved before Galine could even open her mouth to order them around. They'd been with her for at least a decade, maybe more. They dressed the same, looked the same -- they had to be related, for all everyone denied it.

 

Fyril stepped back, and Zhi pushed herself off the wall, brushing herself off. She glared up at him, but he was moving towards the door. Or maybe that was Abar. Shit.

 

"Zhavi," the other one -- Abar? -- said. Stupid lookalikes.

 

She looked at him, tugging her clothing to rights.

 

"Do not put the serra in a foul mood."

 

She looked away first.

 

The door was open, the other introducing her to the lalafell ensconced in the grand room beyond. Pompous room. Decorated in plum and midnight blue, with little pops of scarlet meant to draw the eye in towards the person who occupied it. Galine. Only Galine -- she liked her theatrics. Upstage her and there would be a problem. Mess something up and there would be blood. Just not in her office. Or on any of her things. No, it would be done somewhere rough and quiet, where things could be cleaned up tidily.

 

Galine liked tidy. She was very particular. Anyone who dealt with her knew that first hand. And Zhi, walking into the room with a short stride meant to make the most use out of her slim hips, knew Galine first hand.

 

She still couldn't look the lalafell in the eyes.

 

"Still walking around as if you have been rolling in the midden, pet?"

 

Should've bathed.

 

As Zhi was finding her tongue, Galine continued to speak. "You always had to be so stubborn, no matter the cost to yourself."

 

"Serra," Zhi said, dipping her head down low before the grandiose desk that dominated the room.

 

"What is this? Are you bending to pick something off from the floor or are you showing respect? For the life of me, pet, I cannot tell."

 

Zhi winced. That damn familiarity. I ain't yer pet, ye feckin' windbag. But she straightened, offered the bow that fed Galine's ego. Naught more than a mummer's game.

 

"Serra," she said again, straightening. "I'm moving th'goods like ye asked."

 

"Still with that wretched slang." Galine tsked.

 

It was hard to breathe.

 

"They'll be comin' soon," Zhi continued, forcing the words out past her teeth. "I ain't done ye wrong."

 

"But what amuses me most of all is how . . . open you are with your temper."

 

The urge to piss pressed at Zhavi's bladder. She couldn't move. She just stared at Galine's be-ringed hands as they passed over papers. Were those papers about her? She stayed silent.

 

"You ought to be more careful of where you conduct your. . .business. Or should I say 'spats'?"

 

No, no, no, no, no. "Everything's been arranged real neat. . ." Zhi forced the words out. Her voice was small, weak.

 

"I have been thinking how it has been some time since I have invited someone to tea. Tell me, have you heard of Osric Melkire? Ahh. . ."

 

Zhavi closed her eyes.

 

"That is the young man you had your disagreement with in the Wench, is it not? How delightful."

 

"I -- "

 

"You, my little pet, are late. I do not accept tardiness. You should be well aware of that. How curious, then, that you would try to make excuses for your failure to be punctual. Curious indeed."

 

Zhi's hands had started to tremble. She pushed them against her thighs. Galine's fingers were tiptoeing across her papers, sifting through them.

 

"Serra -- "

 

"I believe you owe me another, teensy favor, pet."

 

Galine waited until Zhavi looked up from the desk, up to Galine's beautiful serpentine green eyes, before she made her demands known.

 

 

 

 

 

It felt like bells had passed when Zhi exited the small building in the upscale part of town. She stank of fear-sweat, and failure. She would have to contract help. Something. She had to think. She had to move.

 

She couldn't disappoint Galine again.

[Erik Mynhier]

Erik smiled. He realized no one had told Osric and he nearly fell over trying not to laugh. Ever since he had been imprisoned his Red Wings had been in good hands, but still many things seemed to be overlooked. As soon as this was over he would have some sort of staff meeting to organize the mess it was becoming. He reached out and touched the man's shoulder, "No Osric, come with me."

 

Down to the basement rooms they passed through the recreation area, past the guest room, all the way to the end of the long hall to a dead end past Askier's lab. "This is no great secret, we are licensed by the government to have these for our public mission..." he said as he touched the painting, a landscape of Thanalan, hung over a table, the flowers sitting on the table desert roses. The table slid by its own power as the wall receded. The short stairwell lead to an open bay, four small airships docked, a great door leading to the gulch that could be seen outside the house when looking from the cannon. "... These are our airships, those three grey ones are the licensed one's, but this one..." he said with the smile of a boy on Starlight morning, "This one.... is not. This is the Falcon." Not grey like the others, this airship was black, the trimming a blood red, the crest of the Wings woven into the front black sail. "This one has been with me for years. She is smaller then the cargo ones over there, but nimble as a Miqo'te gymnast. I suppose in looking at her she is the same size on the outside, but inside..." he said as he slapped one of the fore cannons, "she's a bit cramped considering the toys we have strapped to her. She is fast to. If we push her she could make Limsa by sunset, though I do not like to push the lady." He walked down a ramp near the floating craft and unlatched the cargo door, opening it he walked in and petted Fury who had already been settled, "This half of the old cargo bay we use to stable our birds." He pointed to the door behind and walked through to a cramped mechanical room, "The weapons and expanded engine took up the rest of the bay." He turned and exited the ship the way he came, shutting both doors and walking back up the ramp and boarding the ship. The deck was the size of one of the personal quarters rooms in the headquarters, most of that space taken by a wheelhouse. Walking in he lights the room. The helm and instruments in the front of the room, two Flame cots flanking the room, with a two seater table and food ice box in the center, a small washroom in the back on the left, steps to the engine bay they had just stood in on the right, utility was the word one would use. "This is how you get to travel from now on." he said with a wink.

[Raz]

Limsa had changed in Cenric's absence, but it was still the same. Different faces, different agendas, but the game remained the same.

 

He was tired, he realised, as he dragged his feet from the markets towards the Wench, passing a whore and a Yellowjacket officer as he worked his way through the quieter streets. He'd had to begin building up his contacts again, had to gather information, scope out threats and possible allies. It was grueling work, and he hated how it felt like he was starting at the bottom.

 

He was lucky, then, to have been approached by a few interesting people with equally interesting offers, with the most intriguing being an Ul'dahn acting as the middleman for his client back in the desert city. Cenric couldn't quite ignore the strange feeling the man gave him, a feeling he couldn't explain even to himself. Perhaps it was simply the last few day's toll on his mind and body. Regardless, he'd accepted the man's proposition, in part out of an old habit to piss off Zhavi, and because the man was connected. Well connected, if what he said was the truth. Such opportunities were hard to pass up.

 

Now standing in the doorway to his room at the Mizzenmast, Cenric threw his bag on he floor and kicked off his boots, making his way to the ledger sat on the small round table against the wall. He still struggled to write, but he managed to scrawl out the important details.

 

All that was left was to wait. His client would have his linkpearl and would be in contact when the time came. In the meantime, Cenric had a few details to sort out, and some... suspicions to put to rest.

[Askier]

Askier grunts and jerks up, suddenly waking up. He bangs his head on the hull of the airship he had fallen asleep under and groaned as he fell back onto his rolling dolly and clutched his face.

 

"Ooooooowwww." Askier moaned sleepily as he moved around, jostling wrenches and pliers as the dolly he lay on jostled.  His golden eyes blinked as he heard voices and saw two pairs of feet moving and then disappear as the boarded one of the airships.

 

The engineer blinked, yawned, and then tried to wheel himself out from underneath, the wheel catching on several tools and impeeded his progress.  He finally slid out and rose to his feet. He was wear only his brown trousers, his ashen skin a odd hue as it absorbed the surrounding light.  The Garlean yawned again. He hadn't slept much the past night, in fact he had come to the hangar to work because he couldn't sleep and needed to think. 

 

He stood there, stupidly scratching the back of his head with his right hand, his left moving slowly as he willed the limb to move. His control was getting better.

[Erik Mynhier]

Leaning over the bow Erik spied his engineer, "Did you sleep down here again? Askier I know life has not been easy, but you need to try and rest.... in your bed."

[Askier]

"Huh?" Askier said stupidly as he turned and looked over at the hyur whom had spoken. Recognizing the face as Erik's he gave a sharp salute.

 

"Sorry, Erik." Askier replied sheepishly as he looked down at his tools scattered all over the floor. "I just have a lot on my mind and needed to think. Besides my bed is only ment for one and two of us was uncomfy."

 

The Garlean yawned.

 

"Anyroad, I wanted to see if I could get these beauties running faster. Still working on that but I've increased the firepower of the airships and the munitions you now have on board are my own, special blend of explosive. So you come across any airship that means you harm, you'll blow a hole in two foot plating with ease. You about to head out?"

[Askier]

"Huh?" Askier said stupidly as he turned and looked over at the hyur whom had spoken. Recognizing the face as Erik's he gave a sharp salute.

 

"Sorry, Erik." Askier replied sheepishly as he looked down at his tools scattered all over the floor. "I just have a lot on my mind and needed to think. Besides my bed is only ment for one and two of us was uncomfy."

 

The Garlean yawned.

 

"Anyroad, I wanted to see if I could get these beauties running faster. Still working on that but I've increased the firepower of the airships and the munitions you now have on board are my own, special blend of explosive. So you come across any airship that means you harm, you'll blow a hole in two foot plating with ease. You about to head out?"

[Erik Mynhier]

Erik nodded, "To Limsa, apparently psychopathic religious fanatics have dropped some information, and Osric and I are going to check on it." He rummaged through his pocket. Finding his key he tossed it to Askier, "If your bed is crowded use mine. Also that box, there are some notes in my desk about safe handling of the item inside. Be careful Askier, I had to handle that stuff for months and I am still feeling the effects."

[Melkire]

Osric gaped. He couldn't help it. Street urchins such as he'd been, as a general rule, did not get to ride around in airships. Gutterborn - honorary or otherwise - rarely got to see such things, let alone board one. Even after starting his soldiering career, he'd never bothered; he'd been too concerned with sending what coin he could back to his family, and that had meant sticking to the vastly cheaper fares of the ferries. The one time - the one time - he had flown in one was when he and Od'hilkas had commandeered one to go after Adin Adonis.

 

Airships were rare. Airships were expensive. 

 

And here Erik has four of them parked beneath his gods-damned basement.

 

He followed Erik around, taking in the tour as if from a distance... until, that is, they re-emerged topside and he heard a familiar voice.

 

Osric went scrambling for his pack, thought better of it, ran back into the cabin, dropped the tote bag off to one side, raided the icebox, scrambled back to the deck, reached the railing, and chucked a mirror apple at Askier's head.

 

"You... you... you ASS." His face was pulled into a frown of utter disbelief, and betrayal was painted across his features. "Here I was, spending a fortune on fares to and from Limsa, while this... you...  say something next time!"

 

He pouted.

[Askier]

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.  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.  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.  "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]

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]

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]

Boat. Masts. Airship. No masts.

 

A fact he was lamenting as he went sprawling onto his back and slid halfway down the deck. He rolled upright, one hand against the planks and 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 caught a door handle, prepared himself for the worst... only for the airship to finally level out.  

 

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]

"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]

"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]

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, 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 the hanging shadows obscured most of his face. He glanced over his shoulder at Montblanc, then eyed 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 one heel and thrust an accusatory finger back at the smoking airship. "...a deathtrap! And don't 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's airship landing. The attendant on duty - Keeper, prim, proper - gave them a small, polite, indulgent smile as she slid a ledger towards them, along with quill and inkwell. "Sers. Your names 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... something. His highlander companion looked vaguely amused as he shoved the ledger back towards the Keeper and flashed her a... a badge? Red on argent... her eyes widened slighty, but she gave no other sign. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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

[Raz]

"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]

"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. 

 

"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?"