Logs:Dread Pirate Deals
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| RL Date: 3 December, 2011 |
| Who: Devaki, Raum, Itsy |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, High Reaches Hold, Tillek Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: Devaki, Raum and Itsy make a deal with a Tillekian 'sailor'. |
| Where: The Salty Haven, Tillek |
| When: Backdated. Sometime? |
| Storyteller: K'del/ST |
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| It's late evening. Most of the good folk of Tillek are in their homes having their evenings meals, playing with their children and family. Devaki? Well, he wouldn't exactly count Raum as family, nor Itsy, but they're the closest thing he has right now. In the months since they've been at Tillek he's continued to show an indulgence towards the erstwhile street rat, turning a decidedly blind eye to her less-than-reputable habits, and a blind eye, too, to the skills that Raum's been training her in. Tonight, the group is headed for a rowdy bar on the docks, known as a frequent haven for what the locals politely term the sea folk, but the realists tend to call flat out pirates. The Salty Haven is not the sort of place that a pseudo-Lord, nor a young girl goes. But fortunately, it /is/ the sort of place that Raum probably looks quite at home in, so Devaki is content to let the Outsider enter first. Inside-- well, the Salty Haven is not yet in full swing for the evening, but that doesn't mean it's quiet. There are wenches (bosomy, short-skirted) serving at the bar, and a wide assortment of mostly-shady folk scattered about, at tables, on barstools, throwing darts in the corner. One group is bellowing sea shanties and waving their beer mugs in the air; that group looks as though it's been here a while, rather the worse for wear. Quieter, in a darker corner, is another group: they don't seem to have anything to say to each other at all, and just focus upon their drinks, one sip after another. It is indeed the sort of place that Raum seems familiar with right away. Maybe he's been here before; maybe it's just built on the same blueprints as every other shady seaside shack on the continent. Either way, he leads the way, heading inside with a deliberately casual air. A glance around is meant to quickly take in the other patrons and get the lay of this land while he makes his way to the bar, gets a drink and settles in for a moment before they get down to real business. While Devaki can do a good 'fisherman' when the need calls for it, his 'Lord in exile' is far more appropriate to the situation. His shoulders are square, he walks like he /belongs/ everywhere, not just here. Most like he owns this place. His gaze drifts a bit more slower around the room, but not so slow as to incite other patrons. There's no sign in his posture of the rousing argument between him and Itsy a mere half hour ago, where he insisted she dress up -- in a dress. He soundly lost /that/ argument: Itsy's in her usual scruffy clothes that she wears when not in the company of Tillek's heir, stroking her knife. Devaki rests a companionable hand against her shoulders in the guise of an escort as they follow in Raum's wake towards the bar. "Far corner," he murmurs, he he slides onto the barstool next to the red-head. A tip of head to the bartender gets him a mug of ale, and -- after a hesitant moment -- one for Itsy, too, to quell any further impending arguments. They do get noticed, this unusual trio: a few eyes lift to watch them, a few mutters - indecipherable, for the most part - rise up. It's not every day, after all, that a lordly gentleman and a small child come into an establishment such as this one. It's that group in the corner, though, who keep a closer eye on the group, even if there's no communication between them - even if, to the casual eye, there's no real change whatsoever. The barkeep doesn't hesitate before serving the girl: he asks no questions, this one, and seems utterly disinterested in his customers. Such arguments as the dress one are the sort to just make Raum laugh, right to Devaki's face; and the decision to order little Itsy ale earns a smirk as well, though he at least has the grace to half hide it behind the mug that shortly arrives. "Yep," is his nonchalant agreement to Devaki. "Shall we dive on in, my Lord?" The title--well, there's always that dry half-mocking to it, but he does draw himself up straighter at the islander's side and let another longer look settle on the pirates: less casual would-be drunk, more professional bodyguard. It'd be difficult to ignore that half-mocking tone, and yet, that's one of the traits of a good Lord -- ignoring the sly comments when they're no impediment to getting what he wants. Devaki takes a gulp of the ale, cants a glance at Itsy -- who echoes his gesture but her expression is more disgusted than his at the taste -- and rises. "If they go for us, make sure you get the girl out first," the exile murmurs, though apparently not quietly enough that Itsy doesn't overhear: the little girl bristles. "No. /You/ get out first. That's how it's supposed to be." It's spoiled, possibly, by the fact that she slants a querying glance towards Raum, the teacher of All Things Bodyguard, after all. With a grimace Devaki squares his shoulders and saunters right up to the group in the corner as bold as you please. His gaze roams across them. There's one that he seeks out, through the quiet looks and subtle deferments, their erstwhile leader. "Don't suppose you'd mind if I bought you some ale while we discussed some business?" It's not so difficult to identify the leader of that particular group - his is the eye they all try and catch, as Devaki and group approach, and he is, after all, the one sitting at the furthest end, back to the wall. Grey-bearded, but probably not older than his late thirties or early forties, the man doesn't even attempt to conceal his up-down evaluation of Devaki-- and then Itsy and Raum in turn. "Make it rum, lad," ah yes, the stereotype of pirates everywhere, "and we'll have a deal. Most men of substance wouldn't parade their bitty dollymop around like that: you've got me all curious." "We can always find another brat," Raum is nothing if not practical on that point, with a nod of his head to Itsy for her point. "You, now--." He follows, though, at Devaki's shoulder as they head over to face down the pirates, settling for looking intimidating and red-haired from that position. A nod to Itsy is meant to send her to do the fetching on rum--gotta have some use beyond stabbing kneecaps, after all. "Rum it is," Devaki says, half turning and gesturing towards Itsy. Then he's settling down onto the bench nearest the older man. Itsy, of course, is too reactive and not socially skilled enough to be aware that the man's words are a deliberate barb: she bares her teeth and growls at him, taking a menacing step forward. The exile turns and gives her a steady /look/, and a plastered smile. "The man said rum, Itsy." The girl glowers, gives another look at Raum, then retreats, albeit not without a dark look or two sent over her shoulder. To the leader, Devaki gives a low-throated laugh, "Hardly a dollymop. She'd knife you in your sleep as soon as look at you. That's why I like her -- she keeps a man on his toes." The praise, of course, is offered when the girl can't hear it, and his smile deepens. "My man here," a subtle indication of Raum, "Has indicated you can help us. We've some... cargo... that we'd like kept out at sea for a time. Not your usual sort of cargo, though." Itsy's reaction only makes the sailor chortle, and his companions along with it. "Is that so," he says, the faintest hint of culture audible in his tone, as he gives Devaki another lengthy glance. Which part of what th exile has said he is responding to isn't immediately obvious, for he takes his time over his answer, draping ring-encrusted fingers upon the edge of the table and appraising the pair for longer than is surely necessary. "A man of means does need his entourage. Or," and his expression turns amused, "a man pretending to be one of means. What kind of cargo is it, then? That your man believes I could be assistance with?" This time, he glances at Raum, teeth bared. It's... sort of a smile? Sort of. Very toothy. Raum doesn't look after Itsy as she flounces off; she can take care of herself, clearly. His faith in Devaki, or at least in the pirates' good will, is a little less certain, and he maintains that at-the-ready posture that guards do so well. "Let's call it a vacation cruise," he suggests a moment later, after a glance sideways at Devaki. "For our girl and a little friend." For the accusation of pretending, Devaki lifts and drops a shoulder in a careless, 'does it matter?' response. Instead, his lips twist, and there's amusement in his gaze as he nods in ready agreement with Raum's description. "A vacation cruise," he agrees, amiably. "We will, of course, make sure it's worth your while." The sailor mouths the words, rather than say them: a little friend. You don't get to be captain of - let's face it - a pirate vessel without having some smarts about you, and there's a definite indication that, despite the rough-and-ready appearance of this particular gentleman, he's not your average sailor. A gold tooth glints as he remarks, "Best not to ask question, is that it? The whys and wherefores. Why I would babysit a couple of kids for you. Wherefore you would pay me for such a thing." "I think she can handle her own babysitting," Raum dryly notes of Itsy, with a nod of his head back toward the young girl. "As for the rest--" The funding for this venture is Devaki's to handle. "There's some saying about ignorance being bliss that's probably appropriate here," Devaki says. Then he looses a coin pouch and slides it onto the table in front of him, blocked from onlookers by his casual lean over to grab a slice of bread from the table. "As for payment? Half now, half on the -- safe -- return of the cargo once the signal has been given." He tips his head towards Itsy as the girl returns with the requested drinks, though she keeps a close, and wary, eye on the leader. Of course, the exile is probably wise in not mentioning he doesn't /have/ the other half of the coin right now. And won't, unless other plans come to fruition. The sailor smirks as he reaches for the pouch, pocketing it without actually confirming that he'll take the job. Itsy's return is timely, for he gives her another appraising glance - he seems to do that a lot - and then asks, "We'll have a pleasant time, won't we, sweetheart? On our little... pleasure cruise. What will the signal be?" There's a beat, and then he adds, reaching to take his rum, "Of course, failure to pay the remainder would leave the little girl and her friend... forfeit, shall we say." The rum goes down the hatch, smooth as anything, though it can't be anything but the cheapest of the cheap. "Of course." Raum would expect no less, although he'll add himself, with a pointed look for the pirate captain, "We do trust nothing untoward will happen in the meantime. It'd be a shame for any of the rougher sorts you find in these ports, to get any ideas about a pair of defenseless children." Quick as you please, Itsy's hand snakes out and she drives a knife onto one edge of the pouch to prevent the pirate snatching the pouch away. She's probably not looking /quite/ so defenseless right now. Devaki merely grins, a hint of indulgence in his countenance as Itsy bares her teeth at the pirate. "A firelizard will deliver a note to my friend here," the exile tips at head at Itsy. "So of course, if something happens to her, well-- there's no pay. And, like my friend points out: word gets out." His gaze drops onto Itsy's hand, and the knife, with a smirk. "Do we have a deal?" The sailor lifts his hand, releasing the pouch: his expression, if anything, is approving. "Ah," he says, "but if anything happened to your little friend here, we'd still have the other, wouldn't we? And one can only assume that it is the other that is worth the marks." Still, there's nothing dangerous in his expression, not now, and especially not as he adds, "There are those who would say a deal is only sealed with blood or spit, but I'm afraid I've always found such activities... crass." No, this one is definitely not wharf scum. "We have a deal. I'll await your word, then?" Raum lifts his shoulders. "Wouldn't count on it," he notes. "Itsy can take care of herself and I'd hate to see this turn into a lose-lose for all of us. --We'll be in touch." "Very good. Let the man have his marks, Itsy." Devaki says, with a nod to the girl. Reluctantly, she pries the knife free and secrets it back up her sleeve, casting a sidelong glance towards Raum, as if pleased by his praise and trying (and failing) not to show it. The exile rises, and with nothing more than a brief nod to the pirate, turns to leave. What Raum says only makes the pirate smile; he gives Devaki a long nod, and waits until the exile is on his way before saying, just loud enough to be heard, "I'll expect you to have a fond thought for those who have helped you, when all comes together, of course." He doesn't seem to expect an answer, and though the exile won't be able to see it, there's a sharpness to the pirate's gaze: an eagerness. |
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