Rumors and Proof

[Morgan LaLuna]

Morgan sat at a corner table in a spot in Dockside known as The Blackcap Brewery, a seedier sort of bar with the sort that spent their hard earned money drinking away the woes of not having any to spend. His hair was loose and fell around his face in a disheveled sort of manner, just another man sitting with his cup of whatever terrible concoction of drink was available. Thankfully, he’d managed to get something a little better than the house ale, which he was sure was just rotten mushroom water. He never thought he’d know what a rotten mushroom smelled like, but here… He was sure of it. It seemed to pervade every pore of the wood in the establishment, and those of the patrons who drank it. Any going home to husbands and wives would be found out immediately, he was sure.

In the door came three men that lingered at the bar to order, all intent on hiding their identities. The captain grimaced into his cup, and let his gaze drift away in irritation. A surefire way to be noticed in these sorts of places… was going out of your way to do the opposite. He set his cup down with a sigh and found himself rather thankful that nobody in this place actually cared at all. The three started his way, and he leaned back in his chair. One hand lifted casually, and he settled two fingers against his jaw almost as if scratching at the thin scar there. For the entire group to sit down was an unacceptable risk. They paused and seemed to speak amongst themselves a moment before one split off to sit nearby and nurse his cup.

The other two sat down, and Morgan tugged an unoccupied chair close enough that he could set a boot upon it. His lean shifted to one side in result, and he set his arm on the table with a small coin in his hand, tapping it gently against the wood. Though small, the young captain had gained himself a reputation in the months he’d been at sea. Over half a year since he’d cast off clueless and filled with thoughts of adventure on the high seas. He watched the two men murmur between each other a moment before he cleared his throat to interrupt.

"If you two wanted to whisper sweet nothings into each other's ears all night, you should have gotten a room.” He raised an eyebrow when they showed some surprise.

“Ah… It’s just that… Ye don’ seem…” Started one, a pale and sickly sort from what Morgan could see under the hood.

“We thought ye’d be taller.” finished the other, a more substantial man of middle age.

“And ‘ave a deeper voice, now I think it…” added the man Morgan now thought of as Fester. The captain’s eyes narrowed, and the gentle tapping of the coin between his fingers stopped rather abruptly. His foot dropped to the floor, and he leaned forward over the table.

“That’s the thing about rumors, isn’t it? Can’t always trust 'em.” He said pointedly. “Rumors don’t always make you money. Proof…” he let that linger in the air before he resumed his lean back. “So now that I know you believe anyone’s stories, I hope you have everything I asked for. I’m not chasing dreams and seagull farts.”

Fester spluttered and started patting himself down, eventually reaching into the cloak he wore to pull out a wooden scroll case. When Morgan did not take it directly from him, he set it on the table before the captain. “Mister LaFey, we got everything ye asked for, sir. Down to the letter.” He seemed rather proud of himself, perhaps even seeking some sort of confirmation of a job well done and money earned as Morgan looked dubiously at the case. He flickered his fingers and the coin seemed to disappear as he drifted his hands over the wooden case almost curiously. Only after this sweep did he pick it up and uncap it carefully, reaching two fingers in and pulling a thin stack of parchment sheaves out for a quick scan.

“And it’s all legitimate?”

“Every document, Sir.” Answered the older man, nodding solemnly.

Morgan capped the case and tucked it away, leaning forward again to speak to the two men. “I think you know, if you believe in rumors, that I pay very, very well. But I also happen to know about the rumors about what happens to people who try to fuck me.” A slow smile spread crookedly on his lips. “And that they aren’t rumors.” A commotion caught the attention of many patrons of the bar, something different from the bar fights that happened naturally in the sort of place that hosted folk soused with mushroom ale and the woes of a life hard lived.

A group of women he knew.

He turned his gaze back to the two, and snapped his fingers just before them. “I know your faces. I can find you, if I really, really need to.” It was a promise. A warning. A threat. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a satchel heavy with coin, setting it on the table between him and the two gently. He did not want to catch attention with the sound of clinking money. He leaned back into his chair and set his foot back up casually, and waved them off without another word before he picked up his mug to drink. They departed quietly and rejoined their friend, soon disappearing entirely from the bar.

As for Morgan… He was being summoned by a group that he considered friends. The scroll was tucked away secretively, and he got up to join them with an easy smile and a strolling step, pulling his hair back up into the customary bun they’d more easily recognize.

Really, he had no idea what he was about to get himself into. There was nothing so dangerous as…

Girl’s Night.