This is a basement dive. That means it's a hole in the ground that
someone's shored up with shaky timbers and stolen rocks, and strung
lights of dubious provenance and zero fire safety around the place to
make it just bright enough to appreciate the forms of progressively
less dressed ladies with attractive figures and faces that aren't
attractive enough to get them work someplace better than this.
The cramped stage is mostly given over to the band, though in the
middle there's usually a dancer gyrating over the evening's objet
d'art. The tables are round and small, the smoke haze is perpetual,
and the floor is sticky. The patrons come here for the music or
because they can't afford better.
There are curtained alcoves to the sides, a door "backstage", and, on
the opposite side, another door to a back room often used for cards.
The door to the exterior street walk-up is always manned by a bouncer.
--[ views, places ]---------------------------------------
One thing that can be said for this kind of a place, is that it never sleeps. It's bright and early in the day and there are -still- a few people in here that haven't left from last night's entertainment. The girls may have changed shifts, but the punters? So many of them are into their cups and into their cups, the atmosphere ripe with both. But it's a place where noone looks at you twice, unless they're paid to.
Tis why despite him sticking out like a sore thumb, Sullivan has taken up a larger table at the back and is drinking in the humanity of the place, a lot of which is on display and some of it cheaply. He appears to have paid off the barman for some of the better quality drinks, or rather, the stronger variety. It might be rum in that bottle, it might be something akin to fermented vinegar, but it can probably strip paint. The music at the moment isn't bad, but there's an accordian in it.
The sound of Kestrel's booted feet coming down the stairs into this place are likely hidden by the accordian's dulcet tones. But the woman's making an entrance all the same. She swaggers across the floor and calls out, "Wine!" towards the first waitress she sees wiggling a scantily clad ass towards the bar. "And make it a red. None of that Piss Bayle is trying to pass off as a beverage!" she amends her order, weaving through tables.
Sullivan's gaze drifts off from peering at the contents of his glass, to the sight of a familiar swagger, a small, slightly crooked smile appearing on his lips fleetingly as he watches the woman with boots far bigger than her body, swaggering larger-than-life through the world. He shifts in his seat, leaning back, legs stretched out infront of himself, one boot slowly lifted and crossed at the ankle of the other -- indolence and amusement in a posture -- "OI!" called, because this is a greeting to some.
The sound is enough to draw Kestrel's attention to Sullivan. "I ain't takin' me top off and rubbin' me tits in your face for less than three gold," she declares loudly enough to draw both chuckles, cat-calls, and offers of coin. Not to mention looks of jealousy and spite from the women in the joint who could never demand that price. Still, Kestrel finds her way to Sullian and lowers herself with a boneless (or drunken) kind of grace into a chair near the dead man.
Erin comes here from the direction of the Main Concourse and Ironmongers Street - Amber City.
Erin has arrived.
Jhavid comes here from the direction of the Docks - Amber City.
Jhavid has arrived.
"Duly noted, Captain," Sullivan's teeth are very white in his mouth in the dark, grinning like the cheshire prank itself, as Kestrel finds her seat in true jelly-leg style. "Have to admit, the drink isn't bad..." he observes, glancing at the booths that have their curtain's drawn. "...There's a few other benefits here. It's been a while, since the library." Stating the obvious, he pulls from his sleeve a moneypouch, slapping three gold on the table, grinning crooked, and easing back, smirking. "I'd settle for a kiss."
A voice comes from behind Kestrel, "Alright, I think I just have two shiny rocks and a piece of string. Thats basically the same thing." Erin is on the stairs, damp with the morning seaside dew. She eyes the place and finds waitstaff.
The money on the table quickly disappears under Kestrel's hand, swept off and pocketed. "Aye, it has. Some of us have to be workin'," She might say more, but there's a familiar voice that has her turning her head to look at Erin. "Darlin', the price for you is a bit higher than that." She shoots a wink at the woman before standing from her chair and walking over to give Sullivan his kiss. It's debatable about whether it's worth three gold coins.
Jhavid comes thudding down the stairs, not in time to catch Kestrel's comment about the wine but in time to catch her comment about showing her tits. He saunters to the bar tossing some coins down on it and pointing at a bottle of Minosian rum. Having procured the bottle he heads in Kestrel and Sullivan's direction. "Oi, that include you not putting any sharp things in a mate's eye afters or is that extra?"
Sullivan doesn't seem to be complaining about the kiss, that's for certain and for a 'dead man' it's warm enough. He laughs into the contact, then eases back into his comfortable langour once again, hands going behind his head and lacing there, elbows akimbo. Jhavid is looked at, Erin also, in a slow perusal, before he nods to each. Kestrel has his attention a moment later, although it's hard to really place where his eyes are looking, other than a very slight red glow in their depths that suggests a pupil. "You still looking for trouble to get into, Captain?" it's asked as if that's NOT quite as stupid a question as it could be.
Erin offers, "So, like two pieces of string and marble?" Something fruity and alcoholic is ordered and she leans against the countertop as she waits, sprawled lazily.
Kestrel leaves a hand on the back of Sullivan's neck rather than taking her seat back. "Always," she tells the man with the odd eyes. Jhavid gets a look over, and a leer to go with it, while he approaches with rum. "For you, darlin', it's four and you keep your hands at the back of your head if you don't want stabbed in the eye." She gives a grin that promises she'd do it. The stabbing. "Three marbles, two strings if they're made of silver or gold," Erin is countered.
Jhavid nods in return to Sullivan and grins at Erin's repeated comments about string. He quirks an eye at Sullivan calling Kestrel captain and looks her over again. "You must be the captain of the Sirocco." He plops down at the next table, mainly so he can kick his feet up similarly to Sullivan. He also pulls out some sort of weed or another and starts to roll it.
"That's good to know," Sullivan offers, easing his neck back against the contact that's still maintained there, with Kestrel's hand, eyes half-lidding he nods very slightly at the chair next to him, in silent offer. "I've a need then, for your services, then. I've been a busy fellow, hunting for a legend... the ocean tells lots of stories, particularly when the logs of the lost are read." Names of sailors that went down with their ships.
Kestrel trails her nails - painted a vibrant blue - against the back of Sullivan's neck for a moment. Long enough for everyone to get settled where they're gonna go. "The sea tells lots of tales if you know how to listen," she corrects the man before moving away to retake a seat. She settles in a chair that puts her between SUllivan and Jhavid. And when her wine is brought, she tucks one of Sully's coins into the waitress's cleavage. "Aye, I am," she says to Jhavid. "And with that nose...Pleasure to meet ya, Capt'n Flay," Kestrel drawls to the man at the other table. By the time you get a Captain's name in Minos, you're a Known Figure, after all. "So what's the job, Van?" She pours her first glass of red wine and gives it a swirl and sip. Breathing? WHo needs to let wine do that?
Dirk enters from the southwest.
Dirk has arrived.
Erin dumps out the contents of a little pouch on the table, "Alright... I think I only have ... um." She holds up a shiny string and squints at it, "Maybe platnium... and ... a slightly round opal." She lifts the drink to her lips.
Dirk walks in quietly looking at something small and pink in his hands. He heads for a place to sit and only then looks around to see whose in the bar.
Jhavid brushes the side of his nose, grinning. He continues to expertly roll his smoke in cigar-like paper, using a bit of the rum he's drinking to seal it rather than lick the paper. "Aye, 'at I am. Gon' to introduce me to yer friends?" He finishes rolling and lights it, taking a couple of long draws before exhaling a thick cloud of bluish smoke. The odor is definitely not tobacco. He holds it towards Kestrel, offering.
"Oh, I'm sure she does, but I am no sailor..." even if Sullivan likes ships, likes the waves, he's never been a sailor. He looks over toward Jhavid at the calling of the man's name, a faint frown and a slight squint coming when it's placed. Rumours being what they are, he gives the other captain a nod and a scrutiny that likely looks for something other than what's on the surface. Turning back to his distilled-paintstripper, he shoots it back, sucking his teeth in the wake of the slug, clears his throat and sniffs. "The dead have been telling me stories, Kestrel." -- He, Kestrel and Jhavid are settled in the back of the bar, where the tables are larger and set further apart, Erin close-by but not sat yet. "I have a need of those that don't mind the possibility of monsters of the deep, sea-serpents and curses." Pause "There's shinies, though."
There's a sad, frowny-face shake of Kestrel's head given in Erin's direction. "Sorry, darlin', looks like it's not your day." She leans to the side to take the rolled smoking thing from Jhavid and has a couple puffs, holding the final one before breathing out the smoke without caughing up two lungs. "Captain Flay," she says, willing to offer his cigarette on around the table to her friends, "This is Erin, Blood Hand of Mons," she introduces the girl that just dumped out things on the table. "And Sullivan, Dreadlord of Vercosia." Her chair tips back a little as she turns her eyes back to Sullivan, given his story some consideration. "Enough shinies to make it worth chipping a nail fightin' your sea-serpents?" she asks, expression pensive.
Erin furrows her brow, and then sighs a bit dramatically. Her drink is taken and she finally moves to the table after scooping all her things back into the small pouch. "You make the worlds a disappointing place." Ears perk to shinies as she sits down.
Dirk looks over the bar and smiles as he sees someone. He doesn't approach but instead finds an empty place to sit and watch the scenery.
Jhavid casts a look in Dirk's direction, giving him the once-over but since he doesn't seem intent on joining the conversation he says nothing to him for the moment. He nods to Erin and Sullivan both, "Pleased te meet ya." He motions towardss the cigarrette indicating it's fair game for others before taking another healthy swig of his rum. "Shinies er always good. Funny 'ow they always seem ta keep the crew happy."
"Well, one thing I've observed in my years, is that sailors..." And by sailors he means pirates by the sound of it "...have a tendancy to exaggerate, but I have some talent there, in extrapolating the truth from a silver-tongued tale," Sullivan nods, but does give a due consideration to the title he seems to have aquired. He has yet to notice Dirk, focused too much on the immediate conversation. Erin is given a nod at her rather vivid description, then Kestrel's profile at which he grins, flashing white-white teeth once again. "A hold of bullion that was being transported from the mines to port. They were caught in what he said was 'Charybdis' kiss' but everyone else knows as a maelstrom -- thrown deep down, then away... all hands lost to the rocks and the ocean floor. The ship drifted though, caught on the currents... she landed in the darker waters of Rebma..." pause "...where she's still sailing, with all her hands. I have a feeling that they've aquired a bit more than bullion now. I plan on liberating one of their shinies. What you do with the rest of it, is up to you." He nods toward Jhavid. "I've noticed that." The cigarette is taken, if it's offered, sniffed and toked of.
Another drink of wine is taken and Kestrel chases a beed of red liquid around her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Well, now, sailing over Rebma, that's a dangerous game, innit?" she muses. "An' if it's in the edges, good chances yer not looking at fightin' no sea-serpents, but more like to be Tritans." She reaches up one hand and scratches her chin with a bright-blue nail. "So what y're looking for is really a ship and crew crazy and skilled enough to sail in Rebma's waters, /and/ one that has a way to be breathin' beneath the waves and some skill in underwater combat." Kestrel looks away from her study of the bar in general and turns to Sullivan more fully. "You don't do things in small measures do ya, Van?" But her grin lights up, like a spotlight shined into a vault of polished gold coins. "But I'm game."
Dirk says "Be careful out there."
Erin wrinkles her nose, "Underwater." She mutters quietly and sips at her drink. Her gaze flickers from one pirate to another. She is content to listen to stories of shinies, though.
Jhavid screws up his face a bit when Rebma is mentioned. "Not to mention dealing with Rebman patrols. Ey still kill first an' ask questions later when it comes ta pirates or they relaxed a bit since I was last in those waters?" He gives Dirk another look since he nominally joined the conversation. Tweed suit, Fez, sword. He'll never get used to Amber fashion.
Sullivan spreads his hands from where they're laced behind his head, giving a shrug. "Nope, I don't do things by half. If it's worth doing, make sure you're going all in, as they say in cards. Never saw the point of them though," He stretches tall, then settles a little less lazily, handing the cigarette to the next person that might want it and if not, resting it in a dirty tray. "It'll need a talented crew... and yes, Captain Flay. Oft as not. Mind, it's... far into the water. Rebma has been darker than it was, since the shattering. Things are not what they once were." There's a pause "And there's a chance that the ship has braved into deeper places, beyond. All I know for -certain- is that was where the Black Hind was last seen. The dead crew her, so things are not as simple as they otherwise could be. Particularly not as the thing I want from that ship, is likely what is allowing them to sail in black waters."
A finger is tapped against the side of Kestrel's noise and then pointed at Jhavid, backing up his claim about Rebman patrols. "One knight, one ship," she quotes the motto of the Rebman Navy. Her glass of wine is drained and a refill poured. "Plus, you gotta take the time to move all that bullion from the seabed to the ship above. The drag from the water's gonna make it heavier." She considers Erin a few more moments. "You could stay topside, scout things out better than most I know, sugar." And to Sullivan, "There be enough gold to make it worth me while, then aye, you got a ship and Captain. We get there and there's not enough gold? You be in for a world of hurt, my friend."
Erin nods, "Scouting and stabbing and stealing... its what I do best." She tips her drink back and finishes it. "I should be off, let me know when shinanagins happens, I might be able to tag along."
Jhavid throws a lazy wave to Erin when she announces her intention to depart, "See ye around." He seems to be doing some mental calculation. "The Leviathan's not equipped for all that underwater shit, but..." He looks at Kestrel, "Would you be interested in someone playin' tag with the Rebman navy ta keep 'em off yer back? The Leviathan's pretty fast an' she's well armed enough ta draw a larger response."
Sullivan chuckles faintly at Kestrel's caveat, but nods at it. "I'd expect no less," Looking to Jhavid at the man's offer, he tilts his head birdlike for the response, giving a little salute to Erin as she prepares to make her departure.
Kestrel blows a kiss to Erin. "Come see me soon, sugar." She regards Sullivan then Jhavid, squinting at the latter. "Seventy-thirty," she offers him. "You lose five percent for each ship or Rebman I have to deal with meself." She tokes from his cigarette and passes it back. "And three gold if you have more of this."
Erin slips from the table, and towards the stairs without any more words.
Moxon comes here from the direction of the Main Concourse and Royal Way - Amber City.
Moxon has arrived.
Dirk stands by the door to the street.
Moxon tucks his badge into its pocket, to appear less 'coppy,' and eases his way into the modest crowd. He helps himself to an unattended drink, too, with the practiced ease of a stage magician.
Jhavid takes the joint back and takes a couple of long draws off of it, clearly mulling it over. At the offer of buying the weed he waves off, "I got lots. I know a nice little place 'er ye can pick up plenty." He fishes inside his belt for a small oilskin bag and tosses it to Kestrel. "Enjoy, consider it proffessional courtesy." He grins at that and goes back to considering the offor. "Seventy-thirty, eh? Lots of variables in there. I can't keep anything underwater off yer tail. No idea other 'an stories as to what the prize is like. Make it flat seventy-thirty split and I'll actually give 'em an incentive to chase me."
Sullivan listens to the banter between the two captains, leaning back once more in his seat and regarding the air between them then beyond them, with a narrowing of his eyes. One finger is lifted and waggled side to side, at something he can see and others probably cannot. Moxon catches his eye therefore, when the man enters, which leads him to notice Dirk, fez and all. Both brows get lifted.
There's an unladylike snort from Kestrel as she catches the bag of weed. "I wasn't gonna pay you. I meant I'd lower the price you were negotiating earlier." But finally she spits in a palm and hold sit toward Jhavid. "You got a deal, Captain." And over her shoulder, "So do you, Van. We'll help ya get what you're after."
Moxon sips someone else's ... uh ... I guess this is a mojito. He shoots Dirk a wave, nods to Sullivan, and looks quaintly amused at the 'drugs-dealing.'
Dirk shoots Moxon a peace sign and smiles as he listens.
Jhavid takes his legs off the table so he can actually lean towards Kestrel, and spits in his own palm before taking hold of Kestrel's. "We have an accord then." He nods towards Dirk and Moxon, "Friends of yours? If not then I'd prefer we keep our departure time under wraps fer now."
Privately, to Jhavid and Kestrel, Sullivan murmurs, low enough to just be heard at the table. "Caine's kids. One's a ranger, the man with the Fez works for the duke of Karm. He likes me though." With a slight shrug. He then reaches up his sleeve and pulls two objects from a container in the depths, or a pocket sewn into the lining. Two gems are set on the table, both of them emeralds and as green as Brand's eyes. They belong to his treasures, no doubt. "Call this /my/ accord. I have a little more to discern from the sea, before I can tell you a time to depart, so."
Kestrel ties off the bag of you-can-prove-anything to her belt after shaking with Jhavid. She takes something off the table as well and disappears it upon her person. "I'll be around for a bit. But for now, think it's time to find a place with better booze and eyecandy with all their teeth." She winks at her business partners before standing, giving a brief stretch, and calculating the best swagger-path to the stairs.
Moxon hnh. "Never understood sealing deals with spit. I'll digest your palm a little, you'll digest mine, and the sluice where our collective bits mingle is important -- instead of a bacterial slick we'll both later wash off."
Dirk drinks and watches. He remains silent, apparently he's the fez wearing quiet typel.
Sullivan seems content for now, having murmured something to the two sea-leg types he's sat with, he leans back to watch
Kestrel departing, because the view -is- nice, after all. -- The music has lost its accordian player now, heading into something that's a little more moody. He looks over Moxon and Dirk, then back to Jhavid with a flick of his tongue over his lips. "Do we have an accord, Captain Flay?" as there seems to have been one with Kestrel, neatly established. He however, never took a bag of you-can't-prove-anything. He's nursing something that looks like it could strip paint, but that's about all.
Jhavid nods at something Sullivan whispers while also palming something off the table. He gives Kestrel a wink, "I hear Jack's is open all hours." Since Moxon speaks he gives him the once over before responding. "Cuz it's easier 'an sealing it in blood?" Sullivan's question brings a nod, "We have an accord sir."
Moxon shrugs. More mojito. He starts eyeing the crowd for someone's forgotten bourbon, or maybe an amaretto sour.
A grin is given to Jhavid. "So it is. Nice to meet you lot." Kestrel gives a lazy salute towards Jhavid and Sullivan and saunters out of the establishment.
Privately, to Sullivan, Kestrel sends a wink towards Sullivan before she goes.
Kestrel walks towards the way out.
Kestrel has left.
Moxon nudges Dirk. "You met Julian's daughter? The Cibolan? Gahd I'd like to punch that smirk off her face."
"Excellent. Now, to make sure noone gets permanently killed, other than the people that are already dead. I don't mind killing them again." Sullivan murmurs, shooting back his second of the bottle of nasty, black eyes drifting from the stair to Moxon and Dirk, blatantly dropping eaves for a moment.
Dirk says "Who? I do you mean Milisande?"
Moxon nods. "... that's the one. The smirk with legs."
Jhavid watches Kestrel depart, taking another healthy swig off his bottle of rum. "Hate te see 'er go, but I love to watch 'er leave." He nods at Sullivan, "Aye, 'tis unnatural. The dead need to remain dead. Already enough ghost ships on the sea." He also seems interested in the conversation.
Dirk nods "Haven't seen her in years what did she do to you now?"
Moxon says, "Oh, nothin' in particular. Just sets off my entitlement alarm."
Jhavid chimes in, "Oi, 'at's what you call an inferiority complex. What's sad is you let a skirt get you all riled up 'an screwfaced over it."
Moxon narroweyes Jhavid. "Why don't you go back to slinging bags of oregano, guy."
Sullivan laughs a bit at the slinging of insults and the bitching going on over there. "Hey, he has a point, lieutennant..." It's true enough "I'm used to it though. Everyone's entitled around here, what's the difference if it's one with her nose in a sling or one with his buttocks screwed tightly shut on the stick shoved up it?"
Dirk opens his mouth and tries to say something and utterly fails. His mouth stays open for a bit before closing.
Sullivan gets himself a rather thoughtful look, as if a lightbulb just went off in his head. He looks at Jhavid critically, examining the nose perhaps, then leans sidelong to quietly speak to him once again.
Jhavid pointedly ignores the comment about oregano. "An again, 'at is Julian's pride an' joy what's I hear. I wonder 'ow he'd feel if he 'eard one o' his Rangers wanted to give 'is little kitten a thrashing." He makes a point to take a rather long draw of his 'oregano' blowing the bluish smoke into the air again. "Then again, if you didn't 'ave no water in your hold you'd 'ave done it anyway instead of nursing your sorrows over backwash."
Privately, to Jhavid, Sullivan's eyes have started to burn a bit brighter than they were previously, the red star in their depths far more visible. "You have encountered many a ghost ship? The sea tends to claim far too many that cannot be sent through the door." He might have some Feldane in him, this one. Big surprise there.
Moxon says, "I talk. I use words. Like a grown-up. You wanna take a swing, Princess, you go ahead."
Dirk raises his hand "I'll say it. Milisande is a brat and needs a spanking over someone's knee." He takes off his fez and says "You fight one of us you fight both of us."
Moxon holds Dirk to one side with his free arm. Gently enough.
Sullivan leans back from the murmur he gave, then looks over toward Dirk and Moxon, back to Jhavid and sighs, looking up at the roof. Hello sootstains, aren't you interesting.
Privately, to Sullivan, Jhavid says, "Ere's a ghost island in Minos. Word is it's patrolled by ghost ships. We most give it wide berth."
Jhavid looks at Moxon while motioning towards Dirk. "'At your cheerleader or your girlfriend? Look mate. You wanna go give the skirt a smack? Heave to. I ain't judging you. But you ain't using words to solve your problems, mate. What you's doing is sittin' down 'ere sellin' wolf tickets."
Privately, to Jhavid, Sullivan drags his gaze down from the ceiling, looking back at the other man with a nod. "I've not been to Minos in a long while, my memory is not what it used to be." There's a pause and a thought. "I should look into that," he considers.
Moxon says, "... you got a problem with me callin' a cousin a mangy cunt who needs a thrashing. Sayin' so to my brother, in fact, just where you can hear. Wah-wah."
Moxon says, "Stupid problem to have."
Dirk smiles and laughs 'Hey you beat me to it."
Jhavid laughs at both Dirk and Moxon. "Problem? Nah mate. I just think it's sad that you let some posh skirt get your nickers twisted up enough that you have te run off 'an sell wolf tickets over 'er. What's really funny is I'd bet half the swag from me next prize 'at she barely even cares who ye are."
Moxon says, "That's life. She bothers me, I'd like to hoist her by her haughty petard. Whether or not she knows who I am. She's my boss' daughter, though -- doesn't everyone hate the boss' daughter?"
Sullivan leans forward at his table, resting both hands atop the surface, fingertips resting with the palm slightly elevated. He inhales and exhales, eyes closing as he concentrates on maintaining some semblance of calm, in the face of irritation. Around him, the air goes a little chillier and the things on the floor, discarded bits of food and other less pleasant fluids... evaporate in whisps of dark ectoplasm.
Jhavid just kind of shrugs at that question. "I wouldn't know, mate. I've never 'ad a boss. I've 'ad me a few boss's daughters though."
Sullivan rises from his seat after he has mustered his will. There's a nod given toward Jhavid. "Thank you for your ear, Captain Flay. I appreciate the accord... if you'll excuse me, I have to go and /eat/ something." That sounded a bit too omminous.
Dirk looks at Sullivan and starts to move towards him.
Moxon says, "Hnh. Well, bully for you sir. G'day."
Moxon decides that yes, exiting would be flirting with smartness.
Jhavid nods at Sullivan. "Likewise. Leviathan's in dry dock for a few days gettin' careened. So I'll need a few before we can shove off. After that me schedule's open. Being captain has it's benefits."
Dirk follows Sullivan.
Sullivan salutes to the ship captain, glancing at Dirk as he seems to be moving forward to intercept him, then hustles outside, with a fez-wearing fellow in tow.