Logs:A Seven Later
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| RL Date: 11 July, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Jo |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After their run-in the seven before, G'laer follows up and Jo engages his services. |
| Where: Jo's weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 3, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aseana/Mentions, Bareta/Mentions, Gaelan/Mentions, Kinervus/Mentions, Leara/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Jo, crass. Sexual themes. Waaaaaaay back-dated. |
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| He considers himself invited. Jo told him to find her a seven later, so when Teisyth's mind revs excitedly into Tacuseth's mindspace as she angles to land on their ledge, can it be much of a surprise? It doesn't even seem to matter either to green or rider if the blue and his are at home. Teisyth, at least, has been given the impression by her lifemate that they have an appointment. « We're here! » She announces, perhaps unnecessarily as she stumbles in her landing on the ledge, wiggling away as G'laer swings down out of the riding straps. It'd really a wonder that both Jo and her Tacuseth are home. The latter is curled up on his ledge, ever-watchful of the skies as Teisyth lands in the open space there. Her greeting is marked with a brief grunt of his own, matching the demeanor of his rider. And, he must have made the announcement to the missing Jo, for beyond the pulled back curtain that blocks off the inner weyr from the ledge comes the sharp call, "Yer lucky I wasn' entertainin', or gettin' myself off! Showin' up, no warnin' like this..." A greeting, at best. "Lucky?" G'laer questions her definition with the tone of his returned call. Maybe she really said unlucky and he just didn't hear her right over the distance. "You had a full seven's warning," he answers as he moves toward the inner weyr. "I assumed this was my long-awaited invitation to get my eyeful of your boudoir," a term that he makes sound scandalous. Indeed, his eyes are roving as makes his way in. Teisyth in the meantime explores in her own right, not worrying that she might be intruding on Tacuseth's private space. "There's nothin' to see," Jo flicks a careless hand about herself as she is found sprawled on her couch, her fire lizard, Mime, curled up right on her lap. Tacuseth seems for the moment to be amused with the greenpair - he doesn't move from his spot as Teisyth explores, but one can definitely believe that he's keeping as much of an eye on her as he does the skies. "I'm sure any invitation from me said didn' include a tour of my boudoir," the bluerider goes on to say, snorting as she watches him enter her weyr. Certainly he can see the misshapen map on one wall, the row of bottles on another....and weapons. There's a clear line of knives and bows and even a few swords. Other than that, the weyr appears to be of oddly spartan taste. "So what do I owe the pleasure?" she asks now, sweeping a gesture towards both the chair by her table and the couch she's sprawled on. "Of course, nothing." G'laer doesn't agree at all. Blue eyes sweep the spartan space with interest, lingering on the map, the bottles and the weapons in turn. "Oh really?" No invitation to her sanctuary? Oops! His bad. He gives her an incorrigible smile then peels off his gloves to tuck into his belt. "I'm here, as you invited, to see if I can be of service in the matter of your bastards." Whichever ones she meant when they spoke at the Rusty Nail. At least he's not letting his interest in her boudoir cloud business. Jo watches G'laer check out her place with mild interest and amusement. She stays silent as he speaks, and when he brings up one of their topics from the bar, that lopsided grin hitches up a notch as she leans forward and answers finally, "Mmhm. Yeah, I remember. So ya think ya have what it takes to bring these bastards in, huh?" Yeah, she knows exactly what he's talking about. She's openly considering him now, seeming to gauge something in her head before adding in, "How do I know I can trust ya?" given in mild seriousness. He ceases his inspection in favor of this talk, approaching the bluerider until he's within comfortable conversational distance. "Do you want my firstborn as collateral? They're in the caverns and hate me." G'laer makes the offer deadpan. "What reason would I have to turn you in? Who would I even turn you in to for that matter? Either you trust me or you don't. If you don't, I'll finish my tour and be on my way," he looks past the bluerider with a ghost of a grin. "Ya have kids?" This is interesting news, it seems to be to Jo. "How many? Who was she?" As to the rest, she falls silent - calculating. Studying the greenrider in front of her. Even when he looks away and finishes,it's a moment before she breaks the silence. She shrugs Mime from her before getting to her feet and walking past him wordlessly, heading towards her desk. With her back to him, "His name's Kinervus," she says, busy with writing something down. A place. "Just got some news that's he's been around Boll. He's needs to be brought in, for a client," and she now turns to face him, the small sheet of hide torn and she's holding it out towards him. "Bring'em in and I'll give ya half the pay." Simple and to the chase. "Twins," He doesn't sound especially happy about it. No doting Daddy here. "She was my wife." Was. Although, there's no trace that the was means that she's dead now. No glimmer of tears, no pained look. If anything, the slight lines that inadvertently come onto his face might indicate some sort of annoyance, though likely not with Jo. The questions don't seem to bother him, though he is looking past her again, around, at her boudoir. "Where do you keep the whips and chains?" G'laer queries, sounding quite serious. As if they've discussed such things in length before. Then he takes the hide, glancing at it before asking in a substantially more professional manner, "Anything known about him that would be of use? A weakness for drink or pretty women? Is he a man of martial skill?" "Can' see ya married," and Jo shakes her head to that notion. "It's odd on ya. Interestin', but odd. Ya keep tabs on them at least?" His question - whips and chains and the like - immediately gets a deadpan answer of, "I don' keep those out in the open. I've gotta have some bite of class. Even if it's a fake one." One corner of her mouth lifting up now, "If yer nice enough, I'll even point ya in its direction," she adds, as if she's ever the wonderful host showing off her prized gardenias. Back to the subject at hand she goes, and the way she weaves in and out of the topics seems like she's made for some sort of diplomacy. "He'll kill as well as look at ya," she goes on to describe the target, settling into a lean against her desk. "Only weakness I know, and that's if the bitch is still with him, is that woman of his. Bareta. Pretty blonde, though, that was some considerable turns ago so she might not be as easy on the eyes like she used to be." She pauses to consider her words, arms folding across her chest before continuing. "He likes to raid wagons, but only ones with some value but not much security. He'll go for the easy marks, too, mark my words, but he's smart. He finds a way of not gettin' caught." As she speaks, there's a rancid edge to her tone to suggest there's far more to this story, and, it's personal. She doesn't linger on it, however, for in the next breath her tone is just neutral. "He doesn' stay in a one place too long. Only long enough to find a mark, study it, and hit it. Moves on whether he fails or succeeds. He ain' one of those that sticks around'n admires his handiwork." "You probably can't see me sixteen, either, unless you've got a knack for timing it and haven't bothered to teach me yet," G'laer returns to the bluerider with a smirk. "Class is overrated," he adds. "But don't give me any hints, you'll spoil the treasure hunt. I wonder if it's 'x' that marks the spot," the man's eyes rove again as though looking for tell-tale marks. "Sounds like a winner," he comments of her bastards. "Is there a timeline for this? I haven't done a long con in a while and he seems like the type that might bite." Then abruptly, "New deal, Jo. You keep the marks for this bastard-- or is it both you want?" He certainly wants to know, but moves on at any rate to the terms, "I bring them in and you tell me whatever story you're not telling me now." Because certainly there's something she's not saying. "Ya'd be amazed," is all Jo gives in a deadpan voice at his first response. She snorts on his answer on class, regarding G'laer with open amusement before she takes a brief look around and returns to business. "As for the timeline," she goes on to say, "it's not gonna be easy, darlin'. Bastards're good at dodgin' folks where they should. It's how I learned it myself. So," and she gestures towards the greenrider in indication, "take yer time and make sure ya have somethin' to repel bites." A brow lifts when he brings up a new deal right then, and she takes to moving over to the table and leaning against it with her arms folding across her chest. She goes quiet, naturally, when he brings out the terms, her hard gaze raking over him and then bore right into his eyes as if she could pull something from them. Then, slowly shaking her head, "I have marks," she says simply to that. "What I don' have is Kinervus. Why do ya wanna know?" Her story. Now it's her turn to ask. G'laer listens and there's a nod to acknowledge her words. "You will," comes the quietly self-assured answer to what she doesn't have. and then letting the rest lie, he answers bluntly. "Because I like you, Jo. There aren't many I like or would work to get to know," but he likes her. "And it's more fun if I have to work for it than if you just tell me." Just like the treasure hunting. "And I can't turn you in, so I might as well know the whole story." He stops looking around and gives the bluerider his undivided attention. "Do we have a deal?" The fact that Jo is more silent than talking some type of smart-ass bullshit (like she tends to do) is probably saying something towards the words coming out of G'laer's mouth. She seems to be considering him with slightly narrow eyes as he speaks, his answers not getting a right-away response. When a response finally comes, it's a soft snort that's barely heard, along with a single nod of her head. "Ya remind me of someone just now," she notes evenly, her gaze sharp on him. "He was like that, too." She doesn't add anything else to that as she straightens up and runs a hand through her wild and straggly hair before stepping towards him and thrusting out a hand for him to grip. "Very few's all that eager to work with a convict," she says in a low voice, the touch of humor laced in with her tone. Yeah, he has a deal. There's a little bit of amusement in G'laer's look, "Don't worry. I'm sure I'll do something soon enough to highlight the differences between myself and whoever it was." But something about the way she said that, makes him offer the smallest smile that might maybe be called kind. He might leave it all at that, but after a moment, he cants his head. "Taikrin ever talk about how we became friends?" Yes, that's right, he said it. Friends, with Taikrin, a convict. "Oh, there's differences. Make no mistake 'bout that," Jo answers on his and the other one's differences. There's laughter in her voice, marred with the usual taste of sarcasm. Shaking on it, she's about to turn away when her wingleader's name is brought up. Sharp eyes take him in over her shoulder, narrowing at him more in a considering way than an accusatory. Then, with a slow shake of her head, "She's never been very forthcomin' with her life story, if she could help it," she relates on the woman, one corner of her mouth lifting. The gesture almost seems fond, even. "But then, that's normal for us," she goes on to say with a half-shrug. "It's not smart to even trust yer friends completely. How did'ja become friends?" "My first assignment after training," G'laer relates, "was to watch her, and the other convicts working in the Weyr. I was tapped because of my familiarity with the Weyr. It was an unusual first assignment for one right out of training. I spent a lot of time talking with her in the course of things. Riddled the riddles of life." Philosophy. He lets his lips pull into a grin. "You could say I learned to like some convicts when I was still young and impressionable," which probably explains why he doesn't seem to mind working with her. That's apparently all he wanted to say, because the next is a simple, "I'll let you know when I start closing in," before he turns to head for the ledge. At least he's an unexpected guest who doesn't overstay his dubious welcome. G'laer's story is fascinating. It must be for Jo studies the man before her, looking him over as if trying to match the man before her against the one in the story. After a moment, she finally nods once seeming to consider his words before saying, "Riddles. Yeah, I bet." Stepping forward when he heads for her ledge, "Keep me posted," she sends to his back, letting him go. "Don' be a stranger." |
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