Logs:Thief, Bounty Hunter, Assassin
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| RL Date: 8 July, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Jo |
| Type: Log |
| What: G'laer and Jo start trusting each other (or so it seems). |
| Where: Rusty Nail, High Reaches area |
| When: Day 16, Month 3, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aughan/Mentions, Kaitlin/Mentions, M'ron/Mentions, Oliwer/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Adult themes. Waaay back-dated. |
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| The Rusty Nail is Jo's territory. Well, not only Jo's, but it isn't a place G'laer seems to frequent as the busty barmaids don't have any special treatment for him beyond what they hope will part him from his marks. And yet, here's G'laer, settled in a more shadowed table off to a corner where he has a good view of the door and the happenings in general. He wears his long brown coat and nothing discernable as riding leathers or his knot, so this trip is decidedly unofficial. He has a drink, but it doesn't look like he's drank from it, for all that he lifts it near his mouth as often as might be expected of someone having drinks in a bar. His expression is serious as usual, gaze observant and perhaps a touch expectant as they sweep the faces here, regularly returning to the door. Yep, this place is definitely Jo's territory, and she'll toot that horn regardless of who the place really belongs to. She walks in in her black leathers, all sharp-edged badass with a bad attitude, flanked by Kait and M'ron. They, too, don't have their shoulderknots in view as they pause on the threshold, scanning those in the cramped bar before they make their way over to the counter to order drinks. Along the way, Jo's being greeted with much the same crass that she uses herself, and she's giving it back just as good as she's getting it. Once at the counter, she turns to prop her elbows up against it, scanning the crowds while the brownriders with her keep their backs to the crowd and order. She's yet to spot one G'laer. It's a fact G'laer chooses to take advantage of. Certainly, with an entrance like that, Jo can't expect to go unobserved. It's not long before another drink of whatever she ordered is arriving to her with a note; neat handwriting states simply, "Nice pants." Kaitlin was relating something to Jo and M'ron when the note - and the drink - arrives. The bluerider snatches up the note before her partners could, her dark gaze scanning the crowd once more with a slight narrowing of eyes now. Of course, this time around, it is as if her gaze just had to find the greenrider. Brow lifts at him before she turns to murmur something to the blonde beside her, pushing off from the counter to start her lazy saunter towards his table. M'ron and Kait watches on as she stops by G'laer's table, dropping the note right there by his drink as she says, "Ya know ya'll get yer ass kicked in here if they find out yer a guard." The used to be hangs in the air, but perhaps she doesn't need to say that. Having have been one at all seems to be the point she's making. Setting the drink down so that she could lean forward on placed hands on his table, "Yer obsession with my pants may not save ya, either. Ran outta places to sulk back home?" G'laer watches the bluerider approach, canting his head to one side as he looks up at her, "Are you going to out me?" The edges of his lips twitch, a smile that wants to happen but simply isn't allowed. He gestures toward the other side of the booth, inviting her to join him. "Can't you just be pleased your pants earned you a drink instead of bemoaning my obsession with them?" This is probably a joke even if his tone lacks anything to confirm it. "I'm here on business, as it happens. Unguardly business, if that helps. There are better places to go for pleasure. Not that the barmaids aren't nicely built." Even G'laer has to appreciate a nice bust. "I should," Jo is quick to answer his first, staring into his eyes. "Make it so I ain' the only one leavin' this place with blood on her shirt like always. Don' tell me yer above a bar brawl." Maybe she's calling him out. The slight smirk on her face certainly suggests so. When he gestures for her to join, she cast a look back to her companions before dropping down into the seat across from him and reclaiming her drink. "Most men spend more time wantin' what's in the pants rather than the pants themselves," she notes to his question before lifting her mug in a silent toast and taking a drink. "What kind of business?" Lips twitch a bit on the barmaid comment, though no words come to her lips on it. "Who says I don't? Just because I've a weyrmate..." This is probably a bluff. They are nice pants on Jo. "Meeting with a client. Just a simple exchange if no one gets any bright ideas." G'laer's answer is candid, so it's probably true. "I don't mind getting blood on my hands, but I'd be much obliged if you'd hold off until I've transacted my business. Are you here for pleasure alone, then?" He asks. "I'm sure yer weyrmate wouldn' want ya gettin' at someone in their tight pants," Jo counters easily, leaning back in her seat. "Not many, in my experience and observation, seem to understand the difference between just fuckin' to get off and loyalty." At least, in Jo's opinion. "Whatcha exchangin'? Anythin' I can steal?" It's asked oh-so casually, too. Then he's asking the last and her intial answer is a nod back towards the counter where M'ron and Kaitlin still stand. "The Rusty Nail is home away from home for me," she drawls out, hands spreading to encompass the whole bar with a grand gesture. "It's where everybody knows my name. I stop by'n let them all here know I'm still alive. Folks appreciate gestures like that. Getta few drinks in me and see if there's any trouble to cause before headin' back." Typical night. "Going to get close enough to steal from me?" G'laer asks, his lips pulling into the familiar half-smirk. "I can't say as my weyrmate would like that any better than me getting in your pants." He reaches for his drink, but doesn't do more than shift it on the table. "Shouldn't really collect bounties anymore, so I'm earning my extra wage with some of my other skills. Maybe you can help my marketing; you seem the type for black-market action." His eyes drift toward her companions at the bar, and then the bar on the whole, but he doesn't comment on her home away from home, beyond asking, "So you're saying I should be careful not to kill anyone when this brawl gets going, as you'd be a might bit put out." Which would almost definitely lower his chances of anything to do with her pants. "Would be a worthy challenge?" Jo answers his question with a question. She doesn't linger on that topic, though, even though it's obvious that stealing would be entertaining for her. Talk of weyrmates draw a wry, "Ya seem like the exclusive type, so I'm not surprised. Different strokes, they say. Never met yer weyrmate." Idle note, there. She watches the greenrider as he checks out her companions and the bar, draining her mug before his next earns laughter. "Skills like what? Oh, ya wouldn' be interested in the things I get up in, darlin'," and she slowly shakes her head with added emphasis. "A shame yer outta of the bounty business, though. Might've had some use for ya worth yer while. And no," she adds, the smirk growing, "I can give a fuck who ya try to kill here. That's assumin' yer really that good, greenrider. That remains to be seen. 'Sides," she adds with an open shrug, "they're already used to brawlin' around with me. Folks here always up for new blood." "Would I ever offer you anything less?" Half-smirk becomes full smirk. "You might've met him without realizing, if you ever have to stop in the infirmary back home after a bit of fun. He's on night shift a lot. Quiet, efficient journeyman healer." G'laer describes his weyrmate. "I am the exclusive type." He'll give her that one plainly. "Loyalty. Sort of a thing of mine." Once its been earned. "Have I ever told you about my special teas?" He surely knows he hasn't, but that doesn't stop him from asking and quirking a brow at the bluerider. "Wouldn't I be interested?" This is a challenge. "You have such a picture of me in your mind, Jo. I wonder if any bits more than monogamy are true." He drums his fingers briefly on the tabletop. "I said I shouldn't hunt bounties." Shouldn't. "Well, you might not. How do they feel about losing one of their own?" It's possible that a brawl would be easier for him when he doesn't have to worry about going too far. "Interestin'," is all Jo says to his answer on G'laer's weyrmate, letting the mug lingering around her lips as she regards him. Then after a moment, she suddenly leans forward and answers something else said with a glance to the side of them. "Yer just curious," she notes on his interest, her tone deliberately laced with innuendo now. "'Sides, yer were a guard. Like fuck I'd tell ya any of my business." It also seems to lead into the topic of bounties, too, but there's a keen study from the convict rider that suggests she's feeling the greenrider out anyway. "Well now, I don' trust ya," she puts out there, the faint smirk back on her lips. "Give me reason to." "Give you something to blackmail me with?" G'laer rephrases her request with something akin to amusement haunting his baritone. It is a tough thing; two shrewd people trying to trust or be trusted. It requires an act of faith. G'laer slips out of his side of the booth and quickly reseats himself next to the bluerider. One arm moves to snake across her shoulders while the other is reaching into his coat. She asked for this. The other hand moves after being in his coat to low in her lap, like he might be moving to touch her thigh, but his fingers are curled around something small and slowly the hand opens for her to palm the small vial of black seeds. That G'laer responds to that the way he does - bringing up blackmail no less - draws a flick of her gaze to suggest interest. Amusement, too. Before she can drum up a snarky response, though, the greenrider's up and suddenly sitting by her side. She eyes that arm - the one dipping into his coat rather than the one going about her shoulders - and once he drops it to her thigh, a brow definitely lifts at him. It must be curiosity keeping her in place, not moving a muscle and not interrupting him until he reveals something in the palm of his hand. It's there and gone in an instant, that transfer of the seeds from one hand to the other as she murmurs in his direction, "And what is this?" The way he leans in to murmur in her ear, and the way he even smiles as he does it might easily say to the outside observer that he's putting the moves on her. Better they think that than what he's actually saying, "I'd imagine from the way you like to bloody your fists that you don't do subtle very often, but this does the job nicely." G'laer is still smiling in a charming way when he leans back away from her, giving her room, but not withdrawing his arm yet. In the vial there are only five seeds, and he hasn't imparted dosage instructions so there's that, but best to keep whispers brief lest someone get over-curious. Jo notes the act and play of words with idle amusement, not even bothering to look around herself to see if anyone is paying attention to them - other than her friends, rather. "Is this how ya get yer rocks off with women?" she quips back to his 'subtle' comment, her tone arched lightly. Her voice remaining low, "So why are ya givin' this to me?" she seems to be rephrasing her previous question now, her long fingers now curving over the vial in open possession. "I get my rocks off with women the same as any man," G'laer answers, his smile lingering. "You told me to give you a reason to trust me. That's a start. Two seeds, crushed, in something strongly flavored." He reaches for his drink across the table with the arm that was around her shoulders, bringing it to his lips, but giving himself an excuse not to drink because he goes on, still in a quiet tone. "I never was very good at rules, you know. Though I had you convinced well enough. Why do you think I started bounty hunting?" He doesn't mean for her to answer as he provides it for her, "No rules." The drink returns to the table. "Mm-hm," is all Jo says about that first, lips quirking up just a bit. Tapping her filled fist to the table, "Poison? Does it kill?" She falls silent then when he goes to get his glass, his arm extending before he speaks again. A brow lifts at the words given, and the bluerider's chin lifts just a fraction before she answers back with, "A guard wouldn' be a guard without rules, darlin'. Ya could've quit it. Why stay? I didn'." Shifting as she leans back to get more comfortable, "So, bounty huntin'," she adds, saying it as if they're discussing tomorrow's sweep schedule. "What sorts of targets? Were ya the sort to collect up mine escapees, or were ya the sort that collected up targets for renegades?" "Mm," is G'laer's noise of confirmation to the first. "I could have, but why? Spent all that time training. Even the guard has uses for a man that doesn't follow all the rules. It sometimes served me poorly and other times exceptionally well." Is it so hard to believe that shrewd Lord Aughan would want a few guards who knew how to bend or break rules when needed? There are uses for such men. "Oh, all kinds. Depended on the reward and what kind of time and transportation I had. Everything from mine escapees to renegades to cheating spouses." He shrugs; maybe the targets didn't matter so much as the hunt itself. "Use the trainin' some other way," Jo suggests blithely with a slight shrug. "I didn' finish, but then, I had the sudden urge to run away, so." Another shrug to suggest the plights of youth. "I get it though, darlin', 'n I was one of the good ones. Better than most my brothers, anyway." She drops her gaze down to the vial again, studying it before it vanishes into a pocket in her jacket. "Okay. So," she goes on to say, eyeing those near them at the table. "Is it 'bout marks or the rush for ya? I like to know the motivations of a person," she gives in reason for the questioning, the faint wink given. "Though, granted, I could very well find the bastards myself, but I have enough on my plate right now." "I am now, aren't I?" Riding and-- well, other things, apparently. "Was that sudden urge based on anything in particular?" The greenrider questions, ever curious about her roots. Those and her pants; he's like a canine with a bone. "The rush, mostly, though I've never said no to the marks and rarely accepted jobs that aren't made worthwhile." Likely, despite wingrider pay and his proclivity for not buying people drinks, he's not hurting for marks. G'laer twists his cup around on the table top, careful not to slosh out the liquid. "Garden variety bastards or especially nasty ones?" He asks in turn, just as though they're talking about things in the greenhouse back home. There's a lingering pause from Jo, as if she's only considering to answer his question. Then, "It's always a boy, ain' it?" she phrases, a touch wry. "Or a girl. He gave me reason to run." Shrugging slightly, "Anyway, the rush ya said. I can see that. I think," and she's eyeing him closely - almost skeptically. "Hmmm. S'pose I'll think 'bout it then. Hold on to this for me," and she slides the vial right back to him. "Come find me in a seven. We'll talk 'bout it. As to the answer of yer question," and she nods, indicating the last very last one, "they're nasty ones. They're trouble for anyone, but, they're mostly trouble for me. That's nasty enough." "A boy." G'laer repeats, looking at Jo a long moment. "You didn't strike me as the type." Maybe he doesn't even believe it. He's quick to palm the vial and redeposit it into his coat. "Alright." It answers all the rest at once, "Now, you ought to slap me and get up." So it looks believable, this charade of theirs. "My client's here." His eyes flick briefly toward a man that Really Doesn't Belong entering the Rusty Nail and looking far too conspicuous. Clearly, G'laer will have to coach him through the exchange. "I wasn' always this amazin', darlin'," Jo's ego, of course, makes its appearance. Once the vial is taken, "Just like I'm sure ya weren' always a rule-breaker." His words, signalling that their meeting is over, sends a smirk his way before she leans forward delivers something other than a slap: unless G'laer's reflexes block the attempt, it's a quick jab to the gut. What are friends for, after all? As she gets to her feet, regardless of whether the hit connects or not, the convict rider states with a look going over her shoulder towards the mentioned client, "I don' slap. Do I look like a girl to ya?" And then she's stepping away and adding, "Ya know where to find me." G'laer doesn't roll his eyes for Jo's ego, but he does arch a single brow without further comment. Apparently, he'll neither confirm nor deny her speculation about Gallagher of the Time Before. He must've been ready for the gut punch (or at least something other than a slap), because while his reflexes make no attempt to block, he moves with the blow to lessen the impact, letting the force of it carry him half doubled over onto his feet to give her the room she needs to make her exit. It's half a grunt, but the greenrider's words must carry to her as she goes, "In those pants? Every inch a woman." At least, bent like that, he's got a great view! Surely, Jo must have heard G'laer's words as she walked away, heading back towards the counter where her friends are waiting. Surely, she must have. It's laughter that follows her in wake, aiming in his direction as she goes. If she heard, that must be what's accounting for the exaggerated and brief sway of her hips as she leaves him. No words needed. |
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