I still have conversations with the One daily. My family would probably be shocked to hear that. They think I’ve fallen so far from the Way. But I’ve understood through those conversations -- prayer (I should be comfortable calling it what it is) -- that there is no war between faith and doubt. The One encourages us to be intellectually curious, to question motives, to push against ancient societal structures that are in place simply because they are ancient societal structures. Did Ve not encourage the prophet Helen when she screamed out to Ver about injustices she saw?
That’s what Ve calls all of us to do. That is what I feel I have been called to do.
In no way am I saying that I am completely adhering to the call. Not in the slightest. I fail daily. I still cannot get beyond this vicious scramble for money, for security, for stability. These are human concerns. I keep saying that one day I will be better. One day I will be a Fixer of things that matter.
But that day is not today.
===============
The three-story monstrosity of a house was one of the largest in the Prospect Valley neighborhood. Even from the front gate where Tee Korda found herself, it was clear that the grounds were vast and impeccably maintained. The house was a peachy beige color with a mansard roof and tower appeared both immature and pompous all at once. It looked as if a wealthy child’s toy house had been blown up to a ridiculous size.
A man stepped out of the guard both, stepping towards her. “You’re Tee?” There was a note of surprise in the man’s voice.
The question caused Tee’s eyes to drop from the house to take him in. She was used to the reaction. “I am. Is that a problem?”
He reeked of the sort that would bow and scrape to the owner of a house like this. He was dressed in a button down shirt tucked into a pair of poorly fitting khakis. What was left of his hair was swept over to the side to try to mask that he was balding. “No, I was just expecting--” A man. He’d been expecting a big burly man. “I am Ted Connor. I manage Madame Alice’s menagerie.”
Menagerie. The term made Tee slightly uneasy. Some of these types used that word to include collections of animals that trod far too closely to humanoid for her comfort. Her hands slid into the pockets of her leather (pleather, actually, for she hadn’t fallen that far from the Way) jacket. “You want to show me where this happened?”
They didn’t open the grand wrought iron double gates for her. Instead, she followed Ted around to the small pedestrian gate beside the gatehouse. “We can take the cart. It’ll be faster.”
She sunk in beside Ted in the passenger seat of the ATV, watching the scenery go by as they sped down a little cart path, rounding the house towards a tall hedged row to the east of the mansion. A gate built into the hedge opened for them as they came closer and it was what Tee glimpsed as Ted drove on that had her sitting up a bit straighter.
Ted noticed her alert posture and pointed out some of the more interesting specimens in the private zoo he managed. “Those are basans,” he said, pointing to an oversized rooster overseeing his little brood of hens behind heavy bars too narrowly set for them to escape. The rooster caught her looking and turned quickly, opening his beak to let out a wave of fire. The ATV was too far away to feel its effects but had she been standing in front of the rooster she would have certainly been more than singed.
Some of the animals they passed were less bizarre but nearly all were rare and expensive. There were large, lithe felines with sharp fangs bared at them as they hurtled down the paths and snakes that wouldn’t have even been able to fit in her apartment. There was a family of boars the size of small sedans who had bloodshot eyes that followed them darkly.
Ted pointed to a large shaggy animal emerging from its swampy terrain. It had a rounded head and a long neck that seemed impossibly narrow given the weight of its bulky head. There was no tail but sharply pointed, prominent ears that twitched as it heard the ATV. “This is a bunyip. One of the only in captivity. We’re still hoping we can find a second to have a breeding pair.” The bunyip’s whiskers twitched as if the idea didn’t suit him at all.
The ATV came to a stop before a small arched shape overhang built into a hill. The door in the center seemed to lead straight into the hill. “Come. I will show you the carbuncle’s habitat.”
“I don’t understand,” Tee said as she climbed out to follow him towards the door. “All of these animals could catch a small fortune if stolen. What’s so special about this particular one?”
Ted opened the door leading her into an underground tunnel of glass. The glass allowed them to peek into the maze of subterranean channels and burrows that the animal had created. “The carbuncle looks quite a bit like an armadillo. They’re nocturnal herbivores that spend the vast majority of their lives underground in burrows like this one.”
“The carbuncles are starting to sound like the last animal in this place that I’d steal,” she mused.
Ted huffed a short laugh, gesturing absently as he explained the creature in more detail. “That’s what you’d think, right? The thing is that carbuncles are not pretty to look at. They don’t have beautiful plumage like a bird but the females of the species are attracted to bright, shiny colors. The males had to improvise. They became master gemfinders. They were born with a rare gem called a sutrian embedded into their forehead that is as strong as diamonds. They would rub the gems they found against the sutrian to cut it to how they desired it and then affixed it to one of their armored plates with their tail, using a substance like glue that they excrete.”
The news opened the door on the number of people who would be willing to take the risk of getting caught by ‘Madame Alice’s’ security protocols to get their hands on the beast. It wasn’t going to be an easy task. Not that any of her jobs were.
A Fixer didn’t turn away work. If a journalist or politician needed to get into a combat zone, she was hired to arrange security, transport, translators, and meetings with the other side. If a foreign aid worker or missionary was kidnapped for ransom, she was hired to make contact and act as a go-between for negotiations. If a loved one (or, in this case, a priceless exotic pet) turned up missing, she used her contacts to try to locate it.
“And you have no idea who could be behind the theft?” she asked, her eyes trailing through the maze of burrows.
Ted gave a weighty exhale, shaking his head. “Not a one. We’ve got no leads. That’s where we are hoping you will come in. The advance is already in your account. The rest will be deposited when the carbuncle is returned.”
“I’m on it,” Tee replied. But that day is not today.
The Fixer
-
Tee Korda
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 3
- Joined: Mon Mar 30, 2020 9:19 pm
- Location: Never one place very long. Hotels/motels, short term rentals.
Re: The Fixer
Excerpt from the manuscript, ‘Within the Wire’, by RhyDin Observer reporter, Zachary King, on his time in a Darvonian prison camp:
As much as Tee Korda tried to resist with her wardrobe of grays and blacks and denims, spring was in the air. In the narrow, cobbled streets of Dragon’s Gate, there were birds chirping in the trees out front of the rambling shops built one a top the other, the dressmaker shops were displaying frilly frocks in their front windows, the fresh blooms from the flower shops were busting out onto the sidewalks to entice customers in.
Vejîna tiştan. The rebirth of things. It was a holy time to the people of the Way, full of praise for the One. After death comes new life. For a minute or two she even considered returning to her apartment for her prayer mat. It was only a ten minute walk to RhyDin’s Temple of the Way.
The thoughts petered out as she spotted a far from intimidating but familiar figure approaching with two cups of coffee in his hands. As he neared, he extended one to Tee with a quirk of a smile.
Zachary King was one of the city’s best investigative journalists, specializing in the most dangerous assignments. He was on the back side of forty with a teenage daughter who tolerated his presence and three failed marriages which were shattered in part due to his love for his work.
His sharp eyes observed everything with a wry cynicism and he had a mind that could build those observations into complex analysis. She sometimes wondered what he thought of her but quickly realized she was far too pigeon-hearted to ask.
“Thank you,” she said as she accepted the cup. “You look good, Zach.” He certainly looked much better than he had a couple months ago.
“I saw you coming down the street. Thought you might like a cup,” he began before exhaling heavily. “I feel better. A couple months in a Darvonian prison camp will give you some time to think. I haven’t thanked you properly for getting me out.”
Tee gave a lift of a shoulder in a casual, dismissive shrug. “Nothing to thank me for, Zach. The Observer fronted the ransom money. I was just a middle man in the negotiations. You know I got a good cut. It’s just work. Call me before you go next time, hm?”
A flicker of a crooked smile crossed Zach’s face and went as if her reminder was expected. He nodded. “Where are you headed? Anything interesting afoot?”
“Not unless you are giving up reporting in war zones for the stolen pet beat,” Tee replied after a grateful sip of slightly too hot coffee. “I’m headed to Finley's place to see if I can get a lead.”
Zach lifted a brow to suggest that he didn’t fully believe the animal in question was a mere pet. A stolen exotic animal wasn’t enough to capture his attention, though. “I need to get into the office. Can we grab dinner soon? I need to quiz you about your time in the Amcastle Slopes. I’m working on a piece about the Beddows. I need some insight and maybe a contact inside.”
It was a dangerous region full of a vast number of ways to die that didn’t even include the vicious Beddow clan. She could understand why this man kept getting divorced. Her lips pursed and a nod was given before she started back down the street. “Yeah. Give me a call, Zach. Thanks for the coffee.”
The lingering concern over the reporter’s latest interest was pushed aside as she gathered distance. A rusty sign hung over a shop in the distance. Finley's. That’s it. Just the name. There was no clue from the sign alone exactly what ‘Finley's’ was.
Finley's was an ever rotating hub of fronts for illegal commerce. The moment that authorities would shut down one iteration of ‘Finley's’ (a pawn shop or dry cleaner, for example) and arrest that particular ‘Finley’, another business would pop up in its place with someone else from the very large family behind the front desk answering to the name ‘Finley’.
The current venture was in vacation planning. The front window was plastered with posters of waves rolling over pristine beaches and couples kissing under umbrellas with a stunning skyline in the background and a group laughing as they dined at a cafe.
Tee shouldered open the door and a bell rang over her head as she stepped inside. There was no one else there besides the current ‘Finley’ -- a woman in her late thirties with dark hair, a friendly face, and an overall boring disposition that had so far fooled the authorities into thinking that perhaps Finley's had finally cleaned up its act.
“What can I do for you, Tee?” Finley asked as she sunk back to take a seat on a stool, reaching for the tablet kept hidden beneath the front desk. It was Finley's entrance to the seedy, darkness that could be found in this city and beyond its gates. No one was a better gatekeeper of that seediness than the Finleys.
“I’m looking for a carbuncle,” she said as she came up to the front desk. The coffee cup was set down on the counter and she reached for a pamphlet advertising a cruise.
“Those bejeweled armadillo-looking things? Aren’t you vegetarian?” Finley's fingers flew over the tablet.
The question caused Tee to look up from the pamphlet. “I am but I can’t imagine they’d make for good eating.”
Finley gave a shrug, giving a nod to the pamphlet in Tee’s hand even as she searched the nooks and crannies of her networks. “You should consider a vacation. That cruise there stops in the Hijan Islands and Ty’in City. It’s all-inclusive and the food is, supposedly, amazing.”
The mere idea of that many people stuck together in a confined space made Tee’s palms sweaty. She put the pamphlet back on the desk, releasing a slow breath to keep those fears and anxieties in check. “I’d sooner go sit through the Old Darenby Opera where they screech like alley cats for nine hours.”
“Vacations are good for the soul,” Finley replied, a bit distracted. “I can’t find one for sale. However, there is a group looking to buy a female of breeding age so they undoubtedly have a male. But, you’re not going to like who it is.”
Tee heaved a deep exhale. A part of her suspected who the thief might be and Finley's comment implied that sneaking suspicion was right. “The New Cardwood Cooperative,” she replied in more of a statement than a question.
“The one and only,” Finley replied with a slow nod.
Suddenly, this was looking like a story that Zachary King might find interesting. The New Cardwood Cooperative was a secretive organization that had initially popped up in RhyDin as a civic group for young adults. Posters popped up in local parks for small, free concerts paid for by the Cooperative that attracted a youthful crowd. The attendees met the energetic, good-looking marketing core of the Cooperative there where the potential recruits would be invited to study meetings in which they poured over the occultish mantra book of the Cooperative. Before the new recruits' family and friends knew what was happening, they were signing their worldly possessions over to the Cooperative and entering their communes.
It was pushed out of the city when its criminal underbelly began to become obvious but, by that time, the city had lost an untold number of people into the Cooperative’s fold of mysticism and desire for some sort of secret world change. The Cooperative faded away, popping up from time to time in some new (usually criminal) attempt to raise money. The question lingered in everyone’s mind who was paying attention -- just what were they planning to do with all this money they had raised?
“Last I heard they were outside of Cadentia. Have you heard anything recently?” Tee asked Finley, reaching for her coffee cup for a swallow.
Finley slid the tablet back under the front desk. “The same as you. They’re outside of Cadentia. It makes sense if they want a breeding pair of carbuncles. There’s all those gem mines in the deserts out there. They can have the carbuncles locate the gems which carbuncles are experts at, allow the carbuncles to cut them as they do, then peel the gems off the carbuncles’ shells and slip into the bazaar to sell the gems. It’s actually not that bad of a plan if you think about it.”
Not that bad of a plan…? Harvesting gems off carbuncles. It didn’t feel right. But she kept quiet as she often did in these sorts of situations. She’d learned long ago that speaking out those feelings that welled up in her gut only made people roll their eyes and discuss how culturally rigid followers of the Way were. “Thanks for the information. I’ll transfer the usual amount into your account.”
“Do you have a tracker? You know you’re going to need one trying to locate an arm of the Cooperative in the deserts surrounding Cadentia,” Finley responded, clearly having a cousin or brother or niece she'd like to have hired for the job.
Tee wasn’t working with an inexperienced Finley when trying to track down the slippery Cooperative. “Only the best in the city,” Tee responded with a wave of her free hand as she and her free cup of coffee headed for the door.
-------------In situations like these when a reporter goes missing in a hostile region, a news organization like the Observer will hire a ‘Fixer’. In fact, any ‘Fixer’ will tell you that it’s usually best to hire them in advance of heading into the hostile region to ensure you won’t go missing. Fixers arrange security, transportation, translators. They rub elbows with as many ‘bad guys’ as they do ‘good guys’, meaning they can introduce you to both the general of a union army and the nastiest bandit in the wild lands and the black market dealers that both sides need.
I knew for sure which ‘Fixer’ the Observer would hire and I was just as sure that she would lecture me for not hiring her before I left town.
T.K. [her initials for privacy and security reasons] was drafted into her country’s military at the age of sixteen and spent six years in the middle of a civil war. As a follower of the Way, she is a vegetarian and will step around a bug on the ground. However, I have also seen her quickly turn to violence to extricate us from a dangerous situation and she has never batted an eye when introducing me to murderers, plunderers, and mobsters as if they were old school chums.
I don’t fool myself into thinking we are friends. She’s on my side because that is where the money is. But some nights the knowledge that I was certain the Observer had hired T.K. to negotiate with the Darvonians for my release was enough to allow me a little sleep.
As much as Tee Korda tried to resist with her wardrobe of grays and blacks and denims, spring was in the air. In the narrow, cobbled streets of Dragon’s Gate, there were birds chirping in the trees out front of the rambling shops built one a top the other, the dressmaker shops were displaying frilly frocks in their front windows, the fresh blooms from the flower shops were busting out onto the sidewalks to entice customers in.
Vejîna tiştan. The rebirth of things. It was a holy time to the people of the Way, full of praise for the One. After death comes new life. For a minute or two she even considered returning to her apartment for her prayer mat. It was only a ten minute walk to RhyDin’s Temple of the Way.
The thoughts petered out as she spotted a far from intimidating but familiar figure approaching with two cups of coffee in his hands. As he neared, he extended one to Tee with a quirk of a smile.
Zachary King was one of the city’s best investigative journalists, specializing in the most dangerous assignments. He was on the back side of forty with a teenage daughter who tolerated his presence and three failed marriages which were shattered in part due to his love for his work.
His sharp eyes observed everything with a wry cynicism and he had a mind that could build those observations into complex analysis. She sometimes wondered what he thought of her but quickly realized she was far too pigeon-hearted to ask.
“Thank you,” she said as she accepted the cup. “You look good, Zach.” He certainly looked much better than he had a couple months ago.
“I saw you coming down the street. Thought you might like a cup,” he began before exhaling heavily. “I feel better. A couple months in a Darvonian prison camp will give you some time to think. I haven’t thanked you properly for getting me out.”
Tee gave a lift of a shoulder in a casual, dismissive shrug. “Nothing to thank me for, Zach. The Observer fronted the ransom money. I was just a middle man in the negotiations. You know I got a good cut. It’s just work. Call me before you go next time, hm?”
A flicker of a crooked smile crossed Zach’s face and went as if her reminder was expected. He nodded. “Where are you headed? Anything interesting afoot?”
“Not unless you are giving up reporting in war zones for the stolen pet beat,” Tee replied after a grateful sip of slightly too hot coffee. “I’m headed to Finley's place to see if I can get a lead.”
Zach lifted a brow to suggest that he didn’t fully believe the animal in question was a mere pet. A stolen exotic animal wasn’t enough to capture his attention, though. “I need to get into the office. Can we grab dinner soon? I need to quiz you about your time in the Amcastle Slopes. I’m working on a piece about the Beddows. I need some insight and maybe a contact inside.”
It was a dangerous region full of a vast number of ways to die that didn’t even include the vicious Beddow clan. She could understand why this man kept getting divorced. Her lips pursed and a nod was given before she started back down the street. “Yeah. Give me a call, Zach. Thanks for the coffee.”
The lingering concern over the reporter’s latest interest was pushed aside as she gathered distance. A rusty sign hung over a shop in the distance. Finley's. That’s it. Just the name. There was no clue from the sign alone exactly what ‘Finley's’ was.
Finley's was an ever rotating hub of fronts for illegal commerce. The moment that authorities would shut down one iteration of ‘Finley's’ (a pawn shop or dry cleaner, for example) and arrest that particular ‘Finley’, another business would pop up in its place with someone else from the very large family behind the front desk answering to the name ‘Finley’.
The current venture was in vacation planning. The front window was plastered with posters of waves rolling over pristine beaches and couples kissing under umbrellas with a stunning skyline in the background and a group laughing as they dined at a cafe.
Tee shouldered open the door and a bell rang over her head as she stepped inside. There was no one else there besides the current ‘Finley’ -- a woman in her late thirties with dark hair, a friendly face, and an overall boring disposition that had so far fooled the authorities into thinking that perhaps Finley's had finally cleaned up its act.
“What can I do for you, Tee?” Finley asked as she sunk back to take a seat on a stool, reaching for the tablet kept hidden beneath the front desk. It was Finley's entrance to the seedy, darkness that could be found in this city and beyond its gates. No one was a better gatekeeper of that seediness than the Finleys.
“I’m looking for a carbuncle,” she said as she came up to the front desk. The coffee cup was set down on the counter and she reached for a pamphlet advertising a cruise.
“Those bejeweled armadillo-looking things? Aren’t you vegetarian?” Finley's fingers flew over the tablet.
The question caused Tee to look up from the pamphlet. “I am but I can’t imagine they’d make for good eating.”
Finley gave a shrug, giving a nod to the pamphlet in Tee’s hand even as she searched the nooks and crannies of her networks. “You should consider a vacation. That cruise there stops in the Hijan Islands and Ty’in City. It’s all-inclusive and the food is, supposedly, amazing.”
The mere idea of that many people stuck together in a confined space made Tee’s palms sweaty. She put the pamphlet back on the desk, releasing a slow breath to keep those fears and anxieties in check. “I’d sooner go sit through the Old Darenby Opera where they screech like alley cats for nine hours.”
“Vacations are good for the soul,” Finley replied, a bit distracted. “I can’t find one for sale. However, there is a group looking to buy a female of breeding age so they undoubtedly have a male. But, you’re not going to like who it is.”
Tee heaved a deep exhale. A part of her suspected who the thief might be and Finley's comment implied that sneaking suspicion was right. “The New Cardwood Cooperative,” she replied in more of a statement than a question.
“The one and only,” Finley replied with a slow nod.
Suddenly, this was looking like a story that Zachary King might find interesting. The New Cardwood Cooperative was a secretive organization that had initially popped up in RhyDin as a civic group for young adults. Posters popped up in local parks for small, free concerts paid for by the Cooperative that attracted a youthful crowd. The attendees met the energetic, good-looking marketing core of the Cooperative there where the potential recruits would be invited to study meetings in which they poured over the occultish mantra book of the Cooperative. Before the new recruits' family and friends knew what was happening, they were signing their worldly possessions over to the Cooperative and entering their communes.
It was pushed out of the city when its criminal underbelly began to become obvious but, by that time, the city had lost an untold number of people into the Cooperative’s fold of mysticism and desire for some sort of secret world change. The Cooperative faded away, popping up from time to time in some new (usually criminal) attempt to raise money. The question lingered in everyone’s mind who was paying attention -- just what were they planning to do with all this money they had raised?
“Last I heard they were outside of Cadentia. Have you heard anything recently?” Tee asked Finley, reaching for her coffee cup for a swallow.
Finley slid the tablet back under the front desk. “The same as you. They’re outside of Cadentia. It makes sense if they want a breeding pair of carbuncles. There’s all those gem mines in the deserts out there. They can have the carbuncles locate the gems which carbuncles are experts at, allow the carbuncles to cut them as they do, then peel the gems off the carbuncles’ shells and slip into the bazaar to sell the gems. It’s actually not that bad of a plan if you think about it.”
Not that bad of a plan…? Harvesting gems off carbuncles. It didn’t feel right. But she kept quiet as she often did in these sorts of situations. She’d learned long ago that speaking out those feelings that welled up in her gut only made people roll their eyes and discuss how culturally rigid followers of the Way were. “Thanks for the information. I’ll transfer the usual amount into your account.”
“Do you have a tracker? You know you’re going to need one trying to locate an arm of the Cooperative in the deserts surrounding Cadentia,” Finley responded, clearly having a cousin or brother or niece she'd like to have hired for the job.
Tee wasn’t working with an inexperienced Finley when trying to track down the slippery Cooperative. “Only the best in the city,” Tee responded with a wave of her free hand as she and her free cup of coffee headed for the door.
-
Tee Korda
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 3
- Joined: Mon Mar 30, 2020 9:19 pm
- Location: Never one place very long. Hotels/motels, short term rentals.
Re: The Fixer
Text excerpts from April 11, 2020
Text from Pearl Korda to Tee Korda: Tempest, it’s been a month. Are you still in the city? Call me. Gerald and Laura say they haven’t heard from you either. Victor has been in his office 24/7 on this new project so I’m assuming he hasn’t heard from you. It’s the Feast of Vejîna Tiştan. You should be with your family. Your nieces and nephew miss you.
Text from Pearl Korda to Laura Korda: Your sister is such a royal pain.
Text from Laura Korda to Pearl Korda: She’s your sister, too.
Text from Pearl Korda to Laura Korda: Yes, but you’re closer in age to her.
Text from Laura Korda to Pearl Korda: By two months. What is going on?
Text from Pearl Korda to Laura Korda: I want her to come for the final feast night of Vejîna Tiştan. She won’t call/text me back.
Text from Laura Korda to Pearl Korda: I’ve got a full day in surgery ahead of me and she’s not likely to call me back anyway. Have Gerald call her and play the eldest brother/patriarch of the family card.
Text from Pearl Korda to Laura Korda: There is no way that will work.
Text from Laura Korda to Pearl Korda: Then have your kids or Gerald’s kids call her. She’s a sucker for her nieces and nephew.
Text from Pearl Korda to Laura Korda: You could add to that group of nieces and nephews, you know. Isn’t it about time for you and Paul to get serious?
Text from Laura Korda to Pearl Korda: I’m going to go meet with my first patient of the day. Have Gerald or the kids call. I’ll talk to you later. Love you!
--------------------------
The buzzing of the neon sign was like a beacon for the city’s drunk and nefarious. ‘Stony’s’, the sign read. Though, the ‘t’ kept flickering. Situated on a narrow corner, the bar was located in a brick building with several layers of paint that all seemed to be in some stage of peeling. It wasn’t a desirable address but the beer was cheap.
Tee’s phone vibrated from a text message alert in the back pocket of her jeans. She ignored it. Now was not the time to deal with her elder sister. She shouldered open the door and stepped inside, blinking in the lower light.
It smelled like too many sweaty men shoved in too tight a space. There were a couple of acknowledgments of her presence by people at various tables, at the pool tables in the back, and on stools lining the bar. Some of them she had worked with, some of them she had paid for information, some of them she’d crossed, some of them she’d stolen from. Not all of the greetings were the friendly sort that encouraged her to join them for a drink. In fact, most of them were not.
The man she was looking for was at the end of the bar with a whiskey glass and a pile of peanut shells in front of him. He was middle-age, disheveled, and smelled faintly of piss. Tee gave a low growl as she moved down the bar to him.
“Jensen,” she said sharply.
He looked up from the glass to give her a toothy, dull-witted grin. “Tee! Whit ur ye daein' haur, quine?” This was the best tracker in the city. Or, at the very least, the best tracker in the city that would still work for her given her tendency for dangerous jobs.
“Your accent is barely understandable when you’re sober and you are completely incomprehensible when you’re out of your tree,” Tee complained as she lowered herself onto the stool beside him. Unsurprisingly given Jensen’s questionable personal hygiene at the moment, the other patrons were giving him a wide berth. “I need you to sober up. Anna, can you get Jensen a coffee?”
“Sure thing, Tee,” the curvy bartender replied, shooting Tee a flash of a flirty smile.
“Wa th' heel woods Ah want tae sober up?”Jensen grimaced at the idea of sobering up. “Wa dornt ye unbutton yer sark a bit mair?”
She mentally calculated how long it had been since she’d last seen him. A couple months, probably. Had his drinking gotten this bad this fast? Or had she just been able to ignore it until now? “You sure as hell better keep your eyes off my cleavage or I’ll rip them out of your foolish head. I’ve got a job for you. I need you to sober up.”
“Warking fur ye is fur bampots,” Jensen replied dismissively, leaning a bit precariously on his stool. “Yoo’ve almost gotten me killed mair times than Ah can coont.”
“Three or four times max,” Tee retorted casually as Anna set the mug of black coffee down in front of Jensen. “And it wasn’t that close.”
“I think it’s a lost cause, Tee,” Anna broke in with a shake of her head as she reached for a couple empty glasses. “Jensen has barely moved from that stool in days. His old lady left him last week.”
Jensen scoffed at the mug of coffee and, irritated with Anna bringing up a sore subject, he scowled at her. “Haud yer weesht, Anna. Min’ yer ain business.”
“Are you looking for a tracker, Tee?” Anna asked casually, ignoring Jensen’s demand that she shut her mouth. “My Hugo knows a good one in the city. He guides these treks into the wilds.”
Tee lifted a brow. “You’re still dating Hugo? I thought he sold all your clothes when you went to visit your sister and that he spends his day smoking pot on your sofa?”
Anna lifted a shoulder in a shrug, suggesting that it was all water under the bridge. “I think they sometimes smoke together but this guy is really good. I went out with them once.”
“No offense but I think I’d rather sober Jensen up than deal with a pot-head friend of Hugo’s, Anna,” Tee replied, pushing some coins across the bar to Anna for that cup of coffee. She and Anna both knew the problem. There weren't a whole lot of trackers that were still willing to work for her. It wasn’t worth the money to them. She was too reckless, they claimed.
Jensen broke in, frowning at Tee. “Wa is yer sark still oan? Ah need tae see coopy baps.”
Anna swept it into a pocket of her apron. It was never clear how much of the money she collected actually ended up in the till. “I think he’s asking to see your boobs,” she said helpfully.
Tee gave a heavy exhale. Her phone was vibrating again. She continued to ignore it. “What’s Hugo’s friend’s name?”
Anna shot her a grin, reaching for a pen and a cocktail napkin. “Cal. I’ll jot down his number.”
Text from Pearl Korda to Tee Korda: Tempest, it’s been a month. Are you still in the city? Call me. Gerald and Laura say they haven’t heard from you either. Victor has been in his office 24/7 on this new project so I’m assuming he hasn’t heard from you. It’s the Feast of Vejîna Tiştan. You should be with your family. Your nieces and nephew miss you.
Text from Pearl Korda to Laura Korda: Your sister is such a royal pain.
Text from Laura Korda to Pearl Korda: She’s your sister, too.
Text from Pearl Korda to Laura Korda: Yes, but you’re closer in age to her.
Text from Laura Korda to Pearl Korda: By two months. What is going on?
Text from Pearl Korda to Laura Korda: I want her to come for the final feast night of Vejîna Tiştan. She won’t call/text me back.
Text from Laura Korda to Pearl Korda: I’ve got a full day in surgery ahead of me and she’s not likely to call me back anyway. Have Gerald call her and play the eldest brother/patriarch of the family card.
Text from Pearl Korda to Laura Korda: There is no way that will work.
Text from Laura Korda to Pearl Korda: Then have your kids or Gerald’s kids call her. She’s a sucker for her nieces and nephew.
Text from Pearl Korda to Laura Korda: You could add to that group of nieces and nephews, you know. Isn’t it about time for you and Paul to get serious?
Text from Laura Korda to Pearl Korda: I’m going to go meet with my first patient of the day. Have Gerald or the kids call. I’ll talk to you later. Love you!
--------------------------
The buzzing of the neon sign was like a beacon for the city’s drunk and nefarious. ‘Stony’s’, the sign read. Though, the ‘t’ kept flickering. Situated on a narrow corner, the bar was located in a brick building with several layers of paint that all seemed to be in some stage of peeling. It wasn’t a desirable address but the beer was cheap.
Tee’s phone vibrated from a text message alert in the back pocket of her jeans. She ignored it. Now was not the time to deal with her elder sister. She shouldered open the door and stepped inside, blinking in the lower light.
It smelled like too many sweaty men shoved in too tight a space. There were a couple of acknowledgments of her presence by people at various tables, at the pool tables in the back, and on stools lining the bar. Some of them she had worked with, some of them she had paid for information, some of them she’d crossed, some of them she’d stolen from. Not all of the greetings were the friendly sort that encouraged her to join them for a drink. In fact, most of them were not.
The man she was looking for was at the end of the bar with a whiskey glass and a pile of peanut shells in front of him. He was middle-age, disheveled, and smelled faintly of piss. Tee gave a low growl as she moved down the bar to him.
“Jensen,” she said sharply.
He looked up from the glass to give her a toothy, dull-witted grin. “Tee! Whit ur ye daein' haur, quine?” This was the best tracker in the city. Or, at the very least, the best tracker in the city that would still work for her given her tendency for dangerous jobs.
“Your accent is barely understandable when you’re sober and you are completely incomprehensible when you’re out of your tree,” Tee complained as she lowered herself onto the stool beside him. Unsurprisingly given Jensen’s questionable personal hygiene at the moment, the other patrons were giving him a wide berth. “I need you to sober up. Anna, can you get Jensen a coffee?”
“Sure thing, Tee,” the curvy bartender replied, shooting Tee a flash of a flirty smile.
“Wa th' heel woods Ah want tae sober up?”Jensen grimaced at the idea of sobering up. “Wa dornt ye unbutton yer sark a bit mair?”
She mentally calculated how long it had been since she’d last seen him. A couple months, probably. Had his drinking gotten this bad this fast? Or had she just been able to ignore it until now? “You sure as hell better keep your eyes off my cleavage or I’ll rip them out of your foolish head. I’ve got a job for you. I need you to sober up.”
“Warking fur ye is fur bampots,” Jensen replied dismissively, leaning a bit precariously on his stool. “Yoo’ve almost gotten me killed mair times than Ah can coont.”
“Three or four times max,” Tee retorted casually as Anna set the mug of black coffee down in front of Jensen. “And it wasn’t that close.”
“I think it’s a lost cause, Tee,” Anna broke in with a shake of her head as she reached for a couple empty glasses. “Jensen has barely moved from that stool in days. His old lady left him last week.”
Jensen scoffed at the mug of coffee and, irritated with Anna bringing up a sore subject, he scowled at her. “Haud yer weesht, Anna. Min’ yer ain business.”
“Are you looking for a tracker, Tee?” Anna asked casually, ignoring Jensen’s demand that she shut her mouth. “My Hugo knows a good one in the city. He guides these treks into the wilds.”
Tee lifted a brow. “You’re still dating Hugo? I thought he sold all your clothes when you went to visit your sister and that he spends his day smoking pot on your sofa?”
Anna lifted a shoulder in a shrug, suggesting that it was all water under the bridge. “I think they sometimes smoke together but this guy is really good. I went out with them once.”
“No offense but I think I’d rather sober Jensen up than deal with a pot-head friend of Hugo’s, Anna,” Tee replied, pushing some coins across the bar to Anna for that cup of coffee. She and Anna both knew the problem. There weren't a whole lot of trackers that were still willing to work for her. It wasn’t worth the money to them. She was too reckless, they claimed.
Jensen broke in, frowning at Tee. “Wa is yer sark still oan? Ah need tae see coopy baps.”
Anna swept it into a pocket of her apron. It was never clear how much of the money she collected actually ended up in the till. “I think he’s asking to see your boobs,” she said helpfully.
Tee gave a heavy exhale. Her phone was vibrating again. She continued to ignore it. “What’s Hugo’s friend’s name?”
Anna shot her a grin, reaching for a pen and a cocktail napkin. “Cal. I’ll jot down his number.”
-
Caleb Bryn
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 7
- Joined: Mon Mar 04, 2019 5:11 pm
Re: The Fixer
The gentrification of this area of Old Market had started several years before and was now nearly complete. New Haven real estate prices had climbed to prices unrealistic for all but the super rich (of which there were plenty in RhyDin). The quaint, narrow streets of cobblestone that made up Old Market were ripe for the taking just south across a wall from New Haven.
At first, opening a shop or buying a home in that locale was the edgy thing to do. As soon as it became fashionable, the other businesses followed suit. The rich swarmed in, the poor were pushed further to the south. The businesses that had once occupied these streets were replaced with organic bakeries, boutique shops, and real estate attorneys. The businesses that were able to remain had to be survivors. They had to adapt to fit the new market.
Radical Ray's Coffeehouse was a survivor. It fully embraced the rustic charm that was expected, converting an abandoned old bicycle shop into a pulsing center of overpriced coffee, hipsters, and the occasional open mike for poetry readings and struggling indie artists. The words ‘Porter Brother Bicycles’ were still barely visible painted across the front entrance and several antique bikes left behind after Porter Brother Bicycles closed were now situated on the walls.
Well-worn jeans, battered boots, and leather jacket were a staple of Tee's wardrobe in the more dangerous areas of the city so that she might fit in. She didn't need to dress differently for Radical Ray's. There were plenty of people dressed exactly the same way. But, here, it felt a bit more like a costume than armor.
She arrived early and waited in line, marveling over the menu and trying to figure out what exactly 'oat milk' was. As a follower of the Way, she thought she was familiar with all animal milk alternatives but that was certainly a new one on her. A cup of coffee (free-trade and organic) was all she ordered and she took a seat at a back table to wait for Hugo's friend, Cal.
In a city like RhyDin, all manner of transportation could be spotted, depending on which neighborhood one was in, and how rich its residents were. There were plenty of walkers throughout the city, of course, and horse-drawn carriages were near ubiquitous as well, whether the streets were brick, cobble-stoned, or paved. Combustion vehicles showed up more frequently where folks had more money and technology, but over the years they had begun to take over from many of the city's less polluting options. A handful of people still rode horses or other similar animals, but less and less frequently and more commonly in poorer neighborhoods or districts closer to nature. And, of course, there were the magically inclined, who just teleported everywhere, or the high-tech folks, who flew in on spaceships to Star's End and then on speeder bikes wherever they could find the space.
One form of transportation that never quite found a firm foothold were bicycles. The sidewalks were too crowded in many neighborhoods to make it an option there, and bricks and cobblestones made for rough rides for commuters used to riding bikes with fixed gears and thin tires. Cal, however, had discovered a solution to that problem. A red aluminum framed mountain bicycle with almost comically fat tires, the better to smooth out a ride on unfriendly streets. He wasn't going to win any speed awards on it, but when he was in the city and didn't want to figure out where he was going to park his Vanagon, the monster bike got him across wide swaths of town in a reasonable amount of time.
Reasonable, but rarely on time, and today was no exception. He coasted up near the door to Radical Ray's and detoured off to the side, where a metal bicycle rack sat empty in hopes that some of the coffee shop's customers were still fans of bikes. He hopped off the seat and whipped his backpack around to unzip one of the sections, retrieving a cable lock with both runes and elvish engraved on the surface. He didn't quite believe the salesperson at the bicycle shop that they were charms of protection from thievery, but they looked nice, and they wouldn't sell him a lock with a curse that did the opposite of that, right? He looped the cable through carefully, snapped the lock shut, and readjusted the backpack to rest on his back again. After ordering a cup of pour over coffee from the barista, he walked to the back, searching for Tee.
Anna described him pretty accurately, Tee found. Mid-twenties. Just a hint over six feet with a nice build. Brown hair that slightly curled at the ends with streaks of white that sat in juxtaposition to his appearance. Anna had mentioned those streaks as if it was a shame they ruined his model good-looks but Tee found that they made him feel relatable. Something had happened. It hadn't been good.
She lifted a hand to him. "Cal," she said, certain she was right.
At first, opening a shop or buying a home in that locale was the edgy thing to do. As soon as it became fashionable, the other businesses followed suit. The rich swarmed in, the poor were pushed further to the south. The businesses that had once occupied these streets were replaced with organic bakeries, boutique shops, and real estate attorneys. The businesses that were able to remain had to be survivors. They had to adapt to fit the new market.
Radical Ray's Coffeehouse was a survivor. It fully embraced the rustic charm that was expected, converting an abandoned old bicycle shop into a pulsing center of overpriced coffee, hipsters, and the occasional open mike for poetry readings and struggling indie artists. The words ‘Porter Brother Bicycles’ were still barely visible painted across the front entrance and several antique bikes left behind after Porter Brother Bicycles closed were now situated on the walls.
Well-worn jeans, battered boots, and leather jacket were a staple of Tee's wardrobe in the more dangerous areas of the city so that she might fit in. She didn't need to dress differently for Radical Ray's. There were plenty of people dressed exactly the same way. But, here, it felt a bit more like a costume than armor.
She arrived early and waited in line, marveling over the menu and trying to figure out what exactly 'oat milk' was. As a follower of the Way, she thought she was familiar with all animal milk alternatives but that was certainly a new one on her. A cup of coffee (free-trade and organic) was all she ordered and she took a seat at a back table to wait for Hugo's friend, Cal.
In a city like RhyDin, all manner of transportation could be spotted, depending on which neighborhood one was in, and how rich its residents were. There were plenty of walkers throughout the city, of course, and horse-drawn carriages were near ubiquitous as well, whether the streets were brick, cobble-stoned, or paved. Combustion vehicles showed up more frequently where folks had more money and technology, but over the years they had begun to take over from many of the city's less polluting options. A handful of people still rode horses or other similar animals, but less and less frequently and more commonly in poorer neighborhoods or districts closer to nature. And, of course, there were the magically inclined, who just teleported everywhere, or the high-tech folks, who flew in on spaceships to Star's End and then on speeder bikes wherever they could find the space.
One form of transportation that never quite found a firm foothold were bicycles. The sidewalks were too crowded in many neighborhoods to make it an option there, and bricks and cobblestones made for rough rides for commuters used to riding bikes with fixed gears and thin tires. Cal, however, had discovered a solution to that problem. A red aluminum framed mountain bicycle with almost comically fat tires, the better to smooth out a ride on unfriendly streets. He wasn't going to win any speed awards on it, but when he was in the city and didn't want to figure out where he was going to park his Vanagon, the monster bike got him across wide swaths of town in a reasonable amount of time.
Reasonable, but rarely on time, and today was no exception. He coasted up near the door to Radical Ray's and detoured off to the side, where a metal bicycle rack sat empty in hopes that some of the coffee shop's customers were still fans of bikes. He hopped off the seat and whipped his backpack around to unzip one of the sections, retrieving a cable lock with both runes and elvish engraved on the surface. He didn't quite believe the salesperson at the bicycle shop that they were charms of protection from thievery, but they looked nice, and they wouldn't sell him a lock with a curse that did the opposite of that, right? He looped the cable through carefully, snapped the lock shut, and readjusted the backpack to rest on his back again. After ordering a cup of pour over coffee from the barista, he walked to the back, searching for Tee.
Anna described him pretty accurately, Tee found. Mid-twenties. Just a hint over six feet with a nice build. Brown hair that slightly curled at the ends with streaks of white that sat in juxtaposition to his appearance. Anna had mentioned those streaks as if it was a shame they ruined his model good-looks but Tee found that they made him feel relatable. Something had happened. It hadn't been good.
She lifted a hand to him. "Cal," she said, certain she was right.
-
Caleb Bryn
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 7
- Joined: Mon Mar 04, 2019 5:11 pm
Re: The Fixer
Sleepy hazel eyes looked up and considered the woman who called his name out. "You must be Tee." He hadn't really dressed up for the meeting, but it didn't feel like it required nice clothes -- not that he had much in the way of business casual attire, let alone a suit or a tie. With the weather still making up its mind if it was spring or not yet, Cal wore a bright red ultralight down jacket that stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his muted wardrobe: faded blue jeans, muddy work boots, and a henley in olive green.
When he approached the table, he brought with him a rather...distinct scent. A sweet, slightly woodsy and smoky topnote that didn't quite fully cover up the odor underneath. Something pungent, earthy, almost skunk-like lurked beneath the surface of all that incense. Still, there wasn't anything in his eyes, his posture, or his speech that suggested he was high right now. "You a handshaker?" he asked as he took a seat across from her at the table.
The smell caused an instant headache, making her want to pinch the bridge of her nose against the pound. It had nothing to do with the smell itself but what it represented in her mind. Was she really reduced to trying to hire Hugo's pothead friend?
"It's not culturally necessary to me. Is it to you?" There was a slight formality to her Common. It was hard to hear in short phrases but with enough conversation it became clear that Common was not her first language.
"Nah, I'm not really a handshaker. More of a fist-bumper." He held a hand out, balled like a fist, but didn't make any movements towards or away from Tee. "I'm generally pretty caj." His other hand picked up his coffee cup and took a sip from it.
"I don't.... bump fists." The words came awkwardly out of her mouth as if no one had ever even attempted that with her before. The gesture and his slang threw her for a loop. She tried to recover by focusing the conversation back to what they were here for. "I have heard you are a good tracker and that you have some experience with tracking animals."
Cal didn't seem to notice the awkwardness, or if he did, he didn't care. He took the time that might have been spent shaking hands or bumping fists and used it to remove his jacket and drape it over the back of his chair. "I've done a lot of trail guide work, mostly back on my home world but some here too. Most recently, I worked for a group of researchers as a guide and tracker in Cadentia. They were, um, I think they called themselves terraformers? Like they were trying to fix up the land or something. So more 'get you from point A to point B without getting hurt', but I did a little work for the Hunter's Guild tracking down rock scorpions here. Don't always like what they do, but that job's more like getting rid of wasps." He exhaled silently and took a sip of coffee, as if speaking so many words at once was physically exhausting for him.
"Wasps regulate crop pests -- caterpillars, whiteflies," she replied casually. The Way was so ingrained in her head that it was hard to stop herself sometimes. She continued on, not lingering long over the topic. "There will be no killing. I need to find a stolen pet. I think it's outside of Cadentia."
He lifted his empty hand in a semblance of a shrug. "People in civilization don't like when those nests show up in their backyards...but, yeah, no, that's cool, no killing." Cal went with the obvious question next. "What kind of pet?"
That he agreed that easily to the 'no killing' rule eased her tension ever so slightly. He hadn't even given her shit for it. "It's called a carbuncle. Ever heard of it?"
When he approached the table, he brought with him a rather...distinct scent. A sweet, slightly woodsy and smoky topnote that didn't quite fully cover up the odor underneath. Something pungent, earthy, almost skunk-like lurked beneath the surface of all that incense. Still, there wasn't anything in his eyes, his posture, or his speech that suggested he was high right now. "You a handshaker?" he asked as he took a seat across from her at the table.
The smell caused an instant headache, making her want to pinch the bridge of her nose against the pound. It had nothing to do with the smell itself but what it represented in her mind. Was she really reduced to trying to hire Hugo's pothead friend?
"It's not culturally necessary to me. Is it to you?" There was a slight formality to her Common. It was hard to hear in short phrases but with enough conversation it became clear that Common was not her first language.
"Nah, I'm not really a handshaker. More of a fist-bumper." He held a hand out, balled like a fist, but didn't make any movements towards or away from Tee. "I'm generally pretty caj." His other hand picked up his coffee cup and took a sip from it.
"I don't.... bump fists." The words came awkwardly out of her mouth as if no one had ever even attempted that with her before. The gesture and his slang threw her for a loop. She tried to recover by focusing the conversation back to what they were here for. "I have heard you are a good tracker and that you have some experience with tracking animals."
Cal didn't seem to notice the awkwardness, or if he did, he didn't care. He took the time that might have been spent shaking hands or bumping fists and used it to remove his jacket and drape it over the back of his chair. "I've done a lot of trail guide work, mostly back on my home world but some here too. Most recently, I worked for a group of researchers as a guide and tracker in Cadentia. They were, um, I think they called themselves terraformers? Like they were trying to fix up the land or something. So more 'get you from point A to point B without getting hurt', but I did a little work for the Hunter's Guild tracking down rock scorpions here. Don't always like what they do, but that job's more like getting rid of wasps." He exhaled silently and took a sip of coffee, as if speaking so many words at once was physically exhausting for him.
"Wasps regulate crop pests -- caterpillars, whiteflies," she replied casually. The Way was so ingrained in her head that it was hard to stop herself sometimes. She continued on, not lingering long over the topic. "There will be no killing. I need to find a stolen pet. I think it's outside of Cadentia."
He lifted his empty hand in a semblance of a shrug. "People in civilization don't like when those nests show up in their backyards...but, yeah, no, that's cool, no killing." Cal went with the obvious question next. "What kind of pet?"
That he agreed that easily to the 'no killing' rule eased her tension ever so slightly. He hadn't even given her shit for it. "It's called a carbuncle. Ever heard of it?"
-
Caleb Bryn
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 7
- Joined: Mon Mar 04, 2019 5:11 pm
Re: The Fixer
If he'd had coffee in his mouth, he might have spit-taked. As it stood, his eyes narrowed in a bewilderment that, given his rather obvious preferred recreational drug, might have been mistaken for being stoned. "A carbuncle?" He asked the rhetorical question just a little bit quieter than his previous speaking volume, but it only served to add emphasis to his confusion. "I haven't been here long, but I've only seen them twice. Once in a burrow near Cadentia when we started our terraforming mission, and once in the zoo here. Aren't they wild animals?"
It made her a little uncomfortable. They were wild animals and she'd just made an argument for not destroying wasps nests. It felt hypocritical. "They are. This particular one was stolen from a private menagerie. I believe the New Cardwood Cooperative has taken it to breed them and harvest gems from their shells."
"Huh." He sat on that syllable for a while, content to ruminate in a bit of silence while he thought it over. After a couple more sips of coffee, he continued, "They're the Scientology guys? Sort of?"
"What is Scientology?" Before she could answer, she shook her head and tried to explain. "They're a secretive organization that recruits young people. Kind of cult-like. They convince people to leave their family and give them all their worldly goods. No one quite knows what they are up to but they are always up to.... well, creative fundraising."
"Uh, so a lot like Scientology. Quasi-religious? A lot of Stepford Smilers? They had somebody handing out flyers for a concert at a pod near the Winter Wonderland thingy couple Christmases ago." He made a production out of getting the shivers.
"Yeah. That's exactly them. Have you ever gone to the concerts?" She tilted her head at him curiously. She was the type that the recruiters crossed the road to avoid but Cal seemed just the type they would try to rope in.
"Nah. Not my jam. Looked like a lot of singer-songwriter or indie stuff. I mostly listen to Sublime, 311, Slightly Stoopid, Long Beach Dub All Stars, and you have no idea who any of those bands are do you?"
"Slightly Stoopid is the name of a band?" That caused her to set her cup down, leaning forward slightly.
That prompted Cal to laugh, a careful and controlled gesture that came with a smile that seemed to say 'I'm not making fun of you.' "Yeah, that's a pretty, uh, stupid name, right? I think 'cause it's all music by stoners for stoners."
"This is getting off track," she said with a firm efficiency that suggested she wasn't often off track. "I would like to hire you to help me find this carbuncle. I'll deal with getting it back from the Cooperative. I just need help locating it."
He seemed chastised for a split-second, but he quickly let it roll off of his back with a smile and a nod. "Right. Don't suppose we can borrow one to bring with us to help?"
"You want to bring a carbuncle with us?" A brow lifted as she clarified that.
"If we've got one available to us?" The coffee shop was loud enough that it was unlikely they would be overheard, but force of habit still had him looking around to make sure no one was listening, and even after that, he still lowered his voice. "I come from the Druidcraft lineage. Plant manipulation, animal empathy, etc. Get me a carbuncle, and I can guarantee they won't run off. Might even help us if we're nice enough to it."
The statement caused her to freeze in place. Hugo's pothead friend came from Druidcraft lineage? It was far from what she had been expecting. Briefly, she felt a bit guilty for jumping at this gift. She should warn him that it wouldn't be as safe and easy as she was suggesting.
"I think I can make that happen. I'll pay you a thousand a week and handle our expenses."
"Seems fair. I hope you're not in too much of a rush. I need a day or two to set up the assistant and apprentice growers, get things all squared away there. How many weeks are you anticipating?" He asked, even though he knew a lot of that depended on how well he did his job.
"Hopefully, two weeks," she replied with a hint of a grin, laying down the challenge before him.
Two weeks, two thousands silvers, and he just had to track down a harmless carbuncle. In his mind, he was already thinking of what he might do with the money. Convert the Vanagon to run on biodiesel, maybe get a nicer bed inside...He caught himself drifting off, and shook his head to get back in the moment with an apologetic smile. "Sounds good. This's normally where we'd shake hands or whatever to sign off on the deal, but, uh..."
Physical contact was not her strong suit so she didn't dare tell him that the usual greeting and parting for her people was cheek kissing. Instead, she lifted her coffee cup to him in a salute. "We have a deal."
((Written with Tee's player, with many thanks!))
It made her a little uncomfortable. They were wild animals and she'd just made an argument for not destroying wasps nests. It felt hypocritical. "They are. This particular one was stolen from a private menagerie. I believe the New Cardwood Cooperative has taken it to breed them and harvest gems from their shells."
"Huh." He sat on that syllable for a while, content to ruminate in a bit of silence while he thought it over. After a couple more sips of coffee, he continued, "They're the Scientology guys? Sort of?"
"What is Scientology?" Before she could answer, she shook her head and tried to explain. "They're a secretive organization that recruits young people. Kind of cult-like. They convince people to leave their family and give them all their worldly goods. No one quite knows what they are up to but they are always up to.... well, creative fundraising."
"Uh, so a lot like Scientology. Quasi-religious? A lot of Stepford Smilers? They had somebody handing out flyers for a concert at a pod near the Winter Wonderland thingy couple Christmases ago." He made a production out of getting the shivers.
"Yeah. That's exactly them. Have you ever gone to the concerts?" She tilted her head at him curiously. She was the type that the recruiters crossed the road to avoid but Cal seemed just the type they would try to rope in.
"Nah. Not my jam. Looked like a lot of singer-songwriter or indie stuff. I mostly listen to Sublime, 311, Slightly Stoopid, Long Beach Dub All Stars, and you have no idea who any of those bands are do you?"
"Slightly Stoopid is the name of a band?" That caused her to set her cup down, leaning forward slightly.
That prompted Cal to laugh, a careful and controlled gesture that came with a smile that seemed to say 'I'm not making fun of you.' "Yeah, that's a pretty, uh, stupid name, right? I think 'cause it's all music by stoners for stoners."
"This is getting off track," she said with a firm efficiency that suggested she wasn't often off track. "I would like to hire you to help me find this carbuncle. I'll deal with getting it back from the Cooperative. I just need help locating it."
He seemed chastised for a split-second, but he quickly let it roll off of his back with a smile and a nod. "Right. Don't suppose we can borrow one to bring with us to help?"
"You want to bring a carbuncle with us?" A brow lifted as she clarified that.
"If we've got one available to us?" The coffee shop was loud enough that it was unlikely they would be overheard, but force of habit still had him looking around to make sure no one was listening, and even after that, he still lowered his voice. "I come from the Druidcraft lineage. Plant manipulation, animal empathy, etc. Get me a carbuncle, and I can guarantee they won't run off. Might even help us if we're nice enough to it."
The statement caused her to freeze in place. Hugo's pothead friend came from Druidcraft lineage? It was far from what she had been expecting. Briefly, she felt a bit guilty for jumping at this gift. She should warn him that it wouldn't be as safe and easy as she was suggesting.
"I think I can make that happen. I'll pay you a thousand a week and handle our expenses."
"Seems fair. I hope you're not in too much of a rush. I need a day or two to set up the assistant and apprentice growers, get things all squared away there. How many weeks are you anticipating?" He asked, even though he knew a lot of that depended on how well he did his job.
"Hopefully, two weeks," she replied with a hint of a grin, laying down the challenge before him.
Two weeks, two thousands silvers, and he just had to track down a harmless carbuncle. In his mind, he was already thinking of what he might do with the money. Convert the Vanagon to run on biodiesel, maybe get a nicer bed inside...He caught himself drifting off, and shook his head to get back in the moment with an apologetic smile. "Sounds good. This's normally where we'd shake hands or whatever to sign off on the deal, but, uh..."
Physical contact was not her strong suit so she didn't dare tell him that the usual greeting and parting for her people was cheek kissing. Instead, she lifted her coffee cup to him in a salute. "We have a deal."
((Written with Tee's player, with many thanks!))
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