A hungry dog hunts best - Samheen 25th, early TT

[Finley Ward]

Waking up in World's Mouth. Always a fuckin' joy...

Finley was already had a sort of grudging respect for the interesting and inventive unpleasantness lying in wait for him every time he woke up - piles of sheep shit, ghost slime, chronic pounding hangovers - oh, he was learning to love morningtide in this city. It'd be nice if, just once, he could wake to... y'know. A comfy pile of straw in some hayloft. Or a bed. One with actual sheets. And preferably either without some inquisitive person saying, 'and what the hell are you doin' in here...?' Yeah, that'd be nice...

As it was though, he'd fuzzily regained a sort of irritated consciousness in the corner of some dusty haunted house, in a tangle of blankets and with a head that fairly ached - coupled with an uncomfortable queasy feeling he knew all too well. And, in Finley's practised opinion, there was one really good cure for a hangover - drink some more. Hair of the dog that bit you, as it were. Pleasantly, or at least conveniently, he even had an excuse to head back for the Punt's Den - last known location of one Tanaquil D'Veria, and the best place to start the hunt.

Though that bit could come after the drinking. And maybe some sort of greasy meal - that would deal with the ill feeling nicely, and she can't have gotten far after all. Finley had no concrete plan for either finding or capturing Tanaquil - though he had certain ideas about what could be done with her afterwards. The brat owed him, and he remembered that grimly. She'll pay me back... I warned her she would, an' now she will.... if she thinks for a flicker runnin' away is gonna help then... hah. She's even more of a fool than I took her for...

Killing her was one option, of course - but they'd been paid to make her... disappear - and that could be achieved without her body washing down the Vedicus some Morningtide to be found, and then people asking awkward questions like, 'who was she last seen with?' No. Better to stash her somewhere safe, and deal with her at leisure. Somewhere safe like an abandoned haunted estate. So went the plan, at least - vague as it was. A plan he approved of - it began with the drinking, as all good plans should in Finley's opinion. The 'Den beckoned, and with a sense of familiarity - a bar, the most familiar place to him in the world - Finley pushed open the door to begin the hunt.

[Maeve]

When Finley opened the door, nearly sliding on some of the droppings that littered the hall, smeared around by his own antics marks earlier, what greeted him was not the glaring sun that had shone brightly all day yestertide. Instead it was a dreary gray. Whisps of fog still lingered on the grass, slowly dissappearing, and where it became grey clouds was not precisely clear, the edges smudged a bit.

There were no yellow eyes to distract Finley this time and before him stretched the long path over the lawn and to the gates that would bring him to the road. From there it would be a brisk marks walk to the Den. There was a vague memory of the three of them having arrived per coach, and obviously out here in the country distances were its own challenge. Even Nico's ox would have made the trip go a little faster.

[Finley Ward]

Finley blearily surveyed the path with a certain air of grim distain and disappointment. The estate might be remote and pleasantly private, but that also meant it was remote and irritatingly private... and that meant walking places on foot. A whole lot. Some form of coach would certainly be handy right now, but try as he might he couldn't convince himself snapping his fingers and hailing one out here in the sticks would work even for a flicker. If one turned up, and that was doubtful at best, it wasn't about to stop for a scruffy-looking bloke like him. He'd be the first to admit, he both looked and smelled like a vagrant, or more specifically, like rat shit, ghost goo and hangover. And his mouth tasted like carpet.

Joy... He thought, crossly, a muscle in his jaw tightening in displeasure - then swung his bag over his shoulder and set off down the path with a look on his face that could have curdled milk. Moving about had set his head to pounding in an annoying rhythm of pain - and the early fog had left the grass wet enough to soak his ankles and feet with an efficiently he could only curse mentally and ignore.

Not that he had anything against walking - he'd done an awful lot of it in the past. He walked to this damned city after all, and that had been pleasant enough - but walking to the pub when the pub was a depressingly long way away and you really needed to be there now was a bit... annoying.

Y'never know... might be some convenient... wagon of shit or something... Finn curled a lip slightly at the prospect - it seemed likely his luck would throw him such an opportunity and even manage to keep a straight face while it did it. That'd be about right... a wagon of shit... or of fish... or diseased chickens... or something really fuckin' pleasant like that... Yeah. No chance of a wagon of like, pillows.... nah, I'm more likely to be run over one'a them, ain't I...? 's about right...

Despite this pessimistic assessment of his likely chances of a lift, he kept half an eye open for any passing traffic on the road as he joined it, falling in to a familiar rhythm and pace he was used to from years of moving from place to place, and often through necessity. (Being tarred and feathered and run out of a place was no fun, after all...) If some sort of opportunity failed to turn up, he'd not have trouble walking the distance to the 'Den - he'd not have fun, but it'd hardly be a taxing stroll. Simply a bit of a lengthy one.

[Jadmai]

The Estate was about as lively as Panling at Purficato Party. However, outside during tide of tradetide the streets were will into their normal daily grind. Plenty blokes jostling down the streets, and sweet music of coin jingling in coin purses, hanging by a leather straps from belts, beckoned to Finley's ears like a siren's song.

One purse, ever so fat, and had the low clunk that screamed of crowns. Maybe two banging together, with some banners too keep their monetary brethren company. Too easy was all this was. Indeed, it was. The bloke had a second leather strap hanging out the hip of his pants--a second purse tucked inside. In fact, the purse did rattle a little too loud, as seductive as it was, it was probably made to be. A few pebbles with a few banners most likely--a trick of low ranking guards to catch themselves one of Finn's kind. Then the short sword of protruded from the dimwits cloak--standard issue for World's Mouth guards. Not worth it, even as the bastard oogled a lass in front of him with a behind that rivaled Yulember sized hams, his mind no doubt thinking of nice warm place to set his sword during eveningtide.

Not worth it.

Just then the familiar sounds wooden wheels on cobble stone came rumbling behind Finley--always could dish out the coin for that, if needed.

"The Den be a decent place for ya, miss. T'aint too expensive, right good food and drink--like ya said you don't mind a bit of rowdyness, and she can pack a wallop if ya like. I'm sure you can bounce--walk...err..run what have, right in, get ya a bed, fed, and drink so much in the morn ya wish ya were dead."

Bloody boisterous carriage driver talking to his patron--rather, he was talking to her two huge breasts, which were enjoying some of the Western Terra's finest sunlight, and some of the World's Mouth best eyes were enjoying it.

"Tis only a short ride from here, well get you good and squared awhile, and might I mention, I am due for a..." The loud dullard's voice eventually was drown out from the wheels rumble as they passed the wayward Finley. However, luggage in the back, blocked the partition to see through the back of the carraige, and a small platform had a tad bit of room in the back that wasn't being used for other bags. The driver being more occupied with the effects of cobble on breasts, would probably be none the wiser, and it seemed as if they were headed his way.

Cutthroats and cutpurses had to have some luck. Wouldn't have the names if they didn't...damn, risky business with short yarhen for lifespans, it is.

Seems breasts had even more uses, even for the male species, the carriage would lead Finley right to the front door, which was propped open, not much for business right now, though some were filing in. A bartender was prattling on (as they tend to do) to someone sitting on the bar, both of them holding some cards.

[Finley Ward]

Well... that's..... ahhh.... unusual...

Something minor in Finley cheered up at the prospect of a free ride - and he took advantage of it without a thought, swinging himself as nimbly as could be expected on to the platform and making himself relatively comfortable for the short trip. He was, after all, a man who considered everything free if it was worth taking, not nailed down, and wouldn't involve being chased, beaten up or locked away in the very near future. This included convenient rides, of course - certainly had in the past. Though you don't take the buggers, 'xactly - ya just... take advantage of 'em...

The nailed down, worth taking, not getting chased and kicked until dead rule obviously ruled out the little trap the guard had set up - Finn had noticed that one before, and even fallen for it once. Many, many yahren before, when your major punishment was a cuff round the ear and taking back to see your parents and receive a thorough telling off at the very least. With their clever fuckin' purse trick - oh yeah, y'll catch some hardened fuckin' criminals with that one. All of 'em about ten yahren old an' grubby, an'll look as outta place in a jail cell as Niccolo inna fuckin' ballgown... Promotion stuff, I'm sure... Finn considered this rather condescendingly as the distance between him and the guard thankfully grew, a pleasant feeling of grim superiority almost making his foul mood worthwhile. The dull cloud of nasty hangover still hung over him doggedly, with it's accompanying bad temper in tow - something for nothing was what Finley did after all - all the free ride would afford him was the opportunity to deal with his hangover the heavy drinking way a little sooner.

...think on the drink, Finley... not on the ride to it.... fuckin'... ugh... cobbles...

A wave of queasiness gripped him harshly, a sudden cold sweat - he fought the urge to throw up and hung on to his lift with the fierce determination of a dog hanging on to a bone - the bouncing of the coach was successfully doing for his stomach exactly what it was doing for the oversized breasts up front. The major difference being, it caused Finley no pleasure whatsoever to feel such a jolting effect and would be highly unlikely to win him an appreciative, helpful audience. The only thing to do was hold on, not think on it, and get to the welcome familiarity of the 'Den as quickly and without incident as possible, if that were even possible with Finley's luck.

And for some reason, his luck held - once in a lifetime it had to, that made a sort of vague sense - and the 'Den was a reassuring sight to his eyes. It promised a quiet bar stool and a good long drink, or maybe several - and that was enough to further restore his good humour, as much as Finley could be said to ever be in a good mood, that is. As the coach rattled and jolted away he made his way inside the building and walked the already familiar route to the bar with a vague sense of relief and slumped unceremoniously in a barstool with the ease and relief of the man who's reached journey's end - for the time being. For a long moment he said nothing, then propped himself up on one elbow with two fingers raised in a vague pay attention to me, I'm looking for service gesture.

"Beer would be.... really really good... thanks..." He murmured encouragingly at whoever chose to pay him attention. The 'Den wasn't known for speedy (or even accurate) service, exactly, and if the barman were deep in conversation he'd not improve that record with any great enthusiasm. But money was money and service was service, and on a quiet tradetide customers were hardly crowding the place. It was a fair bet beer would be forthcoming directly.

If his unusual luck held, of course.

[Jadmai]

The bartender glanced over the top of his cards at Fin as he sat down, and then back at his hand, when Fin spoke up about a beer, the bartender nodded with much gusto.

"You are ever so right." Looking over at him with nod. He grabbed a mug and filled from a barrel that was below him, hardly taking a look away from his cards as he did so. The tankard filled, he set it up on the bar, but near himself. "And I will get yours right after this hand here, good sir."

"Awright, I'm gonna half to a crown on this hand. It's good Hemi. I don't think you can beat it. What do you say are you gonna bet it? Fold."

Hemi, or as Fin knew him, the drunkard sitting on the bar, just sat there silently, with his mouth slightly agape.

"You can't be serious!" The bartender said. "You're going to bet too! Alright, it's your coin."

The bartender reached over to the other mans stack of coin, and pushed his money in the pot for him.

"Alright, lets lay them down." The bartender said, and then quickly threw his cards onto the bar. Again, he helped Hemi out by grabbing his cards and laying them down for him. The next thing was quite comical as the barkeep grabbed his chest, and threw his head back in disgust. "How'd you get a hand like that!? The odds of you getting that are...well, hell with it, you got it anyway. I guess that's it." The barkeep said with a shrug. "You cleaned me out again." The bartender gathered the coins in his hand, and placed them in the Hemi's lap: There was no reaction.

Grabbing the tankard, the barkeep made his way down to Finley, "I was just razzin' ya, fella. This is your tankard--but I had to let it sit, ya see everyone else just dives in, but if ya let it sit for a few flickers the foam goes down, and ya aren't belly achin' after yer second tankard. Then you can drink more of this gnat's piss with more enjoyment."

The barkeep, swiped off the space in front of Finley with a rag that was almost clean, and placed the tankard in front of him, "Is there anything else, I can be doin' for ya--I certainly have the time, now that I don't have ANY MONEY." The last two words directed at Hemi, who could be dead for all anyone knew.

[Finley Ward]

Finley watched the little performance in mild disbelief, torn between irritation at his continued lack of beer and bemusement at the odd scene being played out. He couldn't quite decide what the hell this was supposed to be - the clumsiest and most inept lead into a card hustle he'd ever had the pleasure of being witness to, or just... some... really weird, convoluted way of paying back a debt... or....? I dunno... some kinda... really unfunny comedy act? ...people are fuckin' odd... 'm too sober fer this crap - an' it's too early in the day... Finn glanced briefly up at the world - the room around him, the light from the windows outside, ...'s still light - 's too fuckin' early...

The pounding in his head reminded him of his agenda forcefully and often - but the weirdness of people was enough distraction to keep him from opening his mouth and saying something he might regret to interrupt the strange charade being... if he were a suspicious person, and usually, given all his faculties and sobriety, he was - Finley might have said this were being played out purely for his benefit. Though why... 'sa 'nother question altogether, ain't it...? Either th' barkeep wants to draw me in fer a game a' two, or... is that guy even alive...? ...gods, I need a drink...

Much to his relief, drink was forthcoming - Finley drank deeply and appreciatively - it might have been the 'Den's finest gnat's piss, but it was beer, and that was better than a kick in the teeth with a sharp stick any day of the week. After a long moment, and having emptied a good half of the glass, he wiped his mouth with the back of a none-too-clean sleeve and sighed.

"Anythin' else...? Eh... I dunno - I'm kinda... waiting fer someone. Not sure if she'll show though, I..." He paused, as if unsure whether to voice his thoughts on the matter. Finley had every intention of playing this out as a concerned lover might - in his mind, the best way to find this Tanaquil bitch was to take up a role played once before. Bit of rough to her wayward noble girl. It could work, given the right sort of audience. He coughed behind a hand, looking away to the side - perhaps a combination of embarrassment and worry, and a look he'd cultivated for the purpose.

"Anyway... she ain't here jus' yet... an'... well. I got some time on my hands, y'know. Til she turns up..." Finley's face spoke ...if she turns up... quite clearly. It may as well have been written there in black ink. As with all his assumed emotions - and assumed they usually were, being incapable of feeling much himself - he relied on learned mimicry, and this was no exception. "So... er..." The Dortman gave a quick, deliberate glance around the bar, as if hoping the girl he was waiting for had miraculously appeared in the ten flickers since he'd last checked, "If ya fancy a game, I'm thinkin' I might have the time an' coin ta... be somethin' more of an opponent than... eh..." He glanced vaguely at Hemi, and raised an eyebrow slightly, "Than that..."

...okey... so it might be he's lookin' fer an easy mark to take down, some easy money ta be made - an' he's not too fuckin' good at drawin' 'em in, either... but money's an' gamin's a fine way ta get people talkin', an' the man you want talkin' is the barkeep in a place like this... if what it takes is losin' to the man for a few hands then... well. 's what it takes, right...?

[Jadmai]

"Like I said chap, I'm tilted. Me friend took me for all my coin, but--"

"Tanaquil..." Hemi the seemingly silently man said in a slightly distant manner. "Heard someone mention that name not too long ago. Looking for her too...that's a lovely name."

The bartender didn't looked at all shocked that his friend actually was alive and well, "Yeah, yeah, fellow is upstairs got a room with another fellow, and enough girls for the entire bar--if you are wondering about the lack of ass, that's that."

"He says it's an open door..."

It was true, upstairs there was a ruckus to be heard, and with the following of the sounds quite the seen could be heard. The sight which Finley would behold was something out of his most comfortable dream, a small harem milling around, the only thing that didn't belong was the two damn males.

One a very attractive man, no matter what persuasion you were, the kind handsome that makes other men bitter, he was dressed in fine clothes but they were far from ostentatious. The other fellow was a half-elf he was dressed finely as well, his eyes drifting from woman to woman as they kissed and fondled each other. He smoked a pipe and a half smile crept across his face, but it didn't seem to be about the ladies.

Then the half elf looked up at the door, and nodded, "Finley,"

[Finley Ward]

TANAQUIL...? what the.... what the fuck?! How did he...?

Finn almost stood and left right then and there - and he couldn't prevent himself from staring open-mouthed like a fool at Hemi for a good few flickers before he remembered his self-restraint, gave the man a hard look, and turned back to his beer intently. The unprompted mention of the girl's name unnerved him, and a familiar and usually well-placed paranoia started to seep into his thoughts. Well-placed, because usually people who knew anything about Finley Ward tended to dislike him (most of the time with good reason, of course - though sometimes, for the life of him, he had no idea why), and therefore people who knew of him, of his business, usually meant impending trouble of some variety. And trouble was pretty bad when you were expecting it, but the kind that crept up on you was always worse. If there was one thing Finley really hated, it was not knowing quite what kind of trouble he'd gotten himself in to this time... or how...

People should.... people should not just know shit like that, it's... it's fuckin' wrong... who is this guy...? how does he... do I know him...? No, no... c'mon. Calm the fuck down, think rationally... it's coincidence. It's gotta be coincidence. He just mentioned a name he'd heard - 's not... 's not that he knew that's who you're lookin' for, Finn - fuckin' pull yourself together!

With an effort, he obeyed his thoughts and listened with half an ear to the barman's thoughts on the matter. A pair of men upstairs with a harem of girls, apparently - though what that had to do with Tanaquil exactly was beyond him right now, and with his thoughts skewered with doubt and a kind of vague, creeping paranoia that he was finding hard to shake, Finley contented himself with his beer, and giving it the full attention it deserved. It was enough to momentarily distract him and went some way to calming the sudden attack of nerves - at least while it lasted, and to be honest, beer around Finn never lasted particularly long.

Shit... okay. Finn bit at a fingernail, thoughtfully, wondering if it were wise to do what he was about to do. Perhaps after another couple of beers he'd feel more.... no... trail to Tana leads upstairs, looks like... upstairs is where you gotta go, kiddo. An' not drunk... 'f there is trouble, 'f there's somethin' gonna happen, y'need yer head together, right...?

The opposing side of his mind argued back that being drunk was a good way to numb the pain of random violence and several more beers was an ideal way to achieve this happy state, but though Finley was an abject coward in the face of violence of any kind, he wasn't a complete fool. You could be perfectly paranoid and still know you were being an idiot - and Finn was well aware he was probably overreacting. 's much better ta get it over with, right...? Then come back downstairs an'... beer. ...'s a good plan if ever I heard one...

So it was with a mild sense of unease that he abandoned his empty glass and made his way up the familiar stairs of the Punt Den. He says it's an open door...? What, for me...? Or... for everyone...? Shiiit.... The room was not hard to find, and the view when he found it, certainly pleasant - his eyes automatically roamed the women with a slightly acquisative air, and then the paranoid part of his mind reminded him gently that it was not considered polite to eye other people's womenfolk - at least not when they were around and could object to it. ...polite, as in - it's not particularly good for your health, Finley... y' shoulda learned that by now, right...?

And though he tried very hard not to flinch when the half-elf addressed him by name, he failed miserably - his eyes seeking the man out and assessing him quickly and nervously, before offering his usual lopsided grin in return with as much confidence and ease as he could muster. Hungover and paranoid was not a good confidence-builder, but years of practice meant he could certainly give faking it a damn good try. "Mmm... appears y'have me at a disadvantage, mate. Not sure I can place a name t'the face, right away... Wanna tell me what this is about?"

They know you... how the fuck do they know you...? Think! Fuckin' THINK! Where d'ya know them from...?

[Jadmai]

As hard as Finley would try he could place neither face, though he would be damned that the second man, just didn't look familiar as bloody nether. Yet, Fin was quite positive that he had never laid eyes on either of these two blokes before.

The half elf spoke up to Finley's only comment as he entered the room, "And my friend, I will always be that one annoying step ahead, that I can promise you, mate." He said, though not nearly as condescending as the words could have been, he was simply informing Fin of what was to be.

"But let us not worry about who has an advantage on who, it's not why I had yuu on an open invitation. Please, Finley, sit down, and be at ease. I was just hoping to offer you a few propositions."

When Finley entered the room it seemed to him that there was only two chairs and two beds, but yet behind him was chair, a rather nice one identical to the other two waiting for him.

"First sit, grab some ass for your lap." The half elf waved an elf over to Finley.

She had long black hair, which fell over her breasts leaving them just barely unexposed. She half laid across Finley's lap wrapping her arm around his neck. The concubine gave the rogue a strong, yet beautiful stare with her dark violet, velvet like eyes, but then suddenly got up, and decided she had taken a bit more of a liking to the man who had yet speak.

"Something wrong?" Asked the half elf to the concubine.

"No," she replied with a voice reserved for dreams, "I am just sort of drawn to this fellow is all--no offense." She offered the last two words to Fin.

Another woman quickly took the other cucubines place, a busty human, not nearly as beautiful, but made up for up with just the right amount of kissing and licking on the nape of his neck.

"Aw, my, where are my manners." The half elf said with a wry smile. "You, sir, can call me Bishop. And my friend here, is Paln."

Lighting a pipe, and stoking it to life, Bishop eyed Finley for a moment, then very suddenly asked, "Finley, you ever commit fraud? No, a better question...you ever commit a crime, that left the mark still alive and none the wiser to your scheme?"

"Because I have a lot of needs, and I got a lot of means as well, but the thing is the Mouth is changing, and I need someone like you--I can't do certain things around this town anymore because frankly, I have my mother's ears." He said with a smile as he traced his slightly pointed ears.

"I also hear you have a need too--I can help with that, but you gotta make a choice first, and you all have to decide is if your are dumb or bloodthristy you are." Inhaling deep on his pipe, the scent of opium in the air, he offered it to Finley, before going on. "I know where a certain bitch is that you got your eye on is, and you can have her, adn that will be that. I'll just ask you a small favor later, and we'll be even."

"But I don't give one of your shits about that, and I wouldn't touch the whore--nor do I see the need to--with your dick. But," he said cocking an eyebrow upwards, "You do me a job, and you do well at it, and I might let you know where she is, and actually fucking pay you for it. Thing is, good man, you go to be crafty and you are gonna help with this."

"Let me just put the nuts on the table: you want a crack at one hundred crowns? And then, if you want to chase your whore around...be my fucking guest."

[Finley Ward]

Despite the warmth of the invitation, Finley did not enter the room, nor did he sit. He certainly had nothing to do with the semi-clad whores roaming the place as if such a thing were perfectly natural. No, his instincts told him this was a bad idea - a bad situation, and he wanted little of it. At least until he was more reassured that he had some minor stake of control in matters. The women may have been tempting, but being offered gold in the face of slavering demons is no choice at all - you run like fuck... being offered sex in the eyes of some unknown and clearly suspicious quantity was as much of the same, in marginally different proportions. Paranoia was a friend at times - it kept you away from the more obvious pitfalls in life. And Finley was a man with plenty to be paranoid about - he considered it wise to put a lot of trust in his instincts. They tended to be correct.

Of course, paranoid instincts might be correct if practically everyone is after you anyway. But in World's Mouth...?!? It's not like I've been here four fuckin' flickers... nah, this ain't right... this ain't on the level... an' I don't care how many whores you dress the thing up in....

"One annoyin' step ahead... mmm?" Finley muttered, mostly to himself, as he leaned lazily against the doorframe and inspected one hand of dirty fingernails apparently with great interest. "That's very interestin'..." At that point, he fell silent in leu of something better to say - and in order to listen to what was said, more to the point. Without more information he was loath to leave and loath to mire himself further in this strange situation. Nether seemed wise, both seemed foolhardy - and so he loitered uneasily in the midground, maintaining his position in the doorway as both a quick getaway should it be needed, and a place from which to conduct conversation. Forward enough to talk, and reserved enough to withdraw. He knew none of this - these people, this situation, and he was not comfortable with people knowing of him - such details as his name, and apparently his goals for the day, without so much as a by-your-leave. The edging paranoia did not let up for one moment - it called him remorselessly back towards the bar, towards beer and contentment and a lack of excitement - and more importantly, a lack of unnecessary risks greater than running out of coin.

He was sorely tempted to take the bar up on it's offer. It was a familiar offer, and one he felt far more comfortable negotiating. Strange men and their... he caught a whiff of the pipe... drugs and whores... 's not normal... c'mon. Foreigner like me, hooked in like this... hokay, so say they been eyein' you, Finn... mebbe in the bar the other night, or mebbe... I dunno... gotta be downstairs with Emi... so... what for...? what d'they want, eh? 'cause they sure as shit want something they ain't sayin'... Look for the money, man - the profit in it... it's there clear as day, ya gotta just know what yer lookin' for... and yer not so poor at spotting it these days, are ya...?

There were tells.... and the open invitation was a good one - they'd marked him out for something, but how or why was anybody's guess. And as the man who introduced himself as 'Bishop' continued, the words got more telling, and the situation far more uncomfortable - Finley found himself barely able to tolerate the feeling of unease that threatened to overwhelm him, the feeling that somehow, somewhere, he'd been here before, with one or both of these gentlemen before - somehow, he'd offended one or both or them. Or he'd... made himself known to them somehow. They knew things better off unknown, and they were apparently in a position to use that knowledge - or at least try... It was debatable how far they'd get. Finley fidgeted visibly in the doorway, his eyes downcast and intent on his fingernails, and then on the corner of the room, and briefly passing over the man speaking to his fingernails once more, and then around again... His mind worked furiously, trying to find the root of this - that which would put it at rest and understand enough of the dynamics of the situation to feel less like bolting for the bar and safety...

Tanaquil... she must'a been talkin'... that might be it, eh...? So... mebbe these guys have her... I mean, they got all the whores, that much shows. Wouldn't be much of a stretch to snare the girl into a 'safe haven' then have her legs akimbo for her rent... I mean, the girl ain't 'xactly streewise, is she...? Sounds like exactly the kinda trouble she'd attract... after all, it were one'a my ideas for her sorry self when I caught up with her...

Eventually, and almost reluctantly pulling himself from his slouch against the doorway and into immediate interaction, Finley spoke, and he did so carefully, warily - with great suspicion and challenge in his dark eyes. "Got a lot'a questions, ain't'cha...? Fer a guy who claims ta know me, an' yet asks what I've done an' what I've not done... Fraud...? If ya know me, y'can answer that one, an' if ya don't, I'd be interested in where ya got my name before we go much further." His eyes flicked back to his fingernails in an almost obsessive concentration - a cross between feigned indifference and a more clearly defined intense concentration on the situation - he was obviously not looking at the filthy nails at all, but looking at his own thoughts, and that intently.

"Ya may have needs, m'friend, an' y'may have information, but I got no guarantees that you got either... let alone the hundred crowns it'd take ta get my attention..." Okay, a hundred crowns was not to be sniffed at - more to the point it was enough to shoulder aside the paranoia in a moment of pure astonishment at the sum offered, more than he'd ever had the good fortune to be left alone with before - but it was merely a moment - words were not enough to promise anything - and a lot of the words from the same mouth had been... worrying. A hundred crowns was one thing, but... back to the comparison between the gold and the slavering demons. Easy choice.

"Nah, at this point, 's dead simple... ya came to me at the bar, ya bought me a drink, we got talkin' - mebbe we'd still be talkin', eh? Ya drag me up here, ya try to intimidate me wiv ya 'one annoying step ahead' an' yer 'open invitation' and yer knowing me name... if ya know shit about me, y'know better'n that. You got an offer to make, y'got a deal to suggest, y'do it man to man without all this... extra shit..." He waved a hand vaguely at the whores and fumes, fixing his slightly bloodshot, hungover eyes on Bishop firmly, "Now. Y'wanna talk? That's fine. That's great... I c'n do talkin'. We'll do it downstairs...."

Finley kept his eyes on Bishop for a moment longer, enough to suggest an' we'll do some proper talkin', out the way of all this window-dressin'... With luck, it was enough to make it quite clear that Bishop's intended mark was not comfortable with being cornered this way - that he'd happily talk business in a venue more to his liking - but without various reassurances, Finley Ward was having none of it. If this Bishop character had half a brain, he'd catch that meaning with no trouble, and if his intentions were something other, well...

Finn finally broke the look with a brief, disinterested glance around the room, and with a lazy stride and no farewell to speak of, turned on his heel to make his way back down the stairs and to a quiet spot at the bar. Somewhere where beer might be ordered, and paranoia quelled. And possibly, deals struck.

[Jadmai]

"You've dragged yourself up here..." Bishop said moving his head to dodge a plume of smoke from hitting his eyes. "...it was told to be an open invitation for anyone at the bar, not just you and your fingernails--calm down a bit."

Bishop stood up slowly and stretched out--it was quite obvious that only one party of the three here was feeling jumpy--then made his way through the maze of bodies to Finn, "Now don't get scared it's just ole Bishop coming to ya, not the boogey man. We'll go have a drink--since you are interested enough not to go runnin' off--and talk in your more comfortable settings."

At this point the other man let out a string of the adheil language that Bishop listened to without even turning his head back. It had that annoying feeling of being talked about in it, and Finn was rather sure he was at least mentioned, not out of his cunning use of adhiel, but because his name popped up three or four times throughout the short diatribe.

"Alright." Bishop said, and nothing more.

Annoying.

As they made there way down the stairs, Bishop actually led the way humming a bit to himself as he trotted down the stairs, seemingly in good spirits, but he stopped right before they reached the common room and he turned slowly to Finn.

"I have information, I had that before anything. One needs to have that--one needs to know things in order to get any where--you understand that, right? And I don't want you to ever doubt that again, k, daddy? Nor the money," he said and let a friendly arm drap over Finn's like an old drinking buddy.

A heavy thud came from Finn's chest as the large, stuffed purse landed against him, it was opened a little, there probably wasn't a hundred in there, but close enough.

"C'mon."

Bishop pushed his way to the bar, "My friend will have another beer, from the smell of things, and I will have one too." He splashed some coins across the bar, "For the rest of the night." He said with a nod.

The bartender picked them up, "And part of the morning."

"Whatever." He said turning his head slightly. Bishop then turned his head back towards Finley, and took a seat, "So, what's on your mind, you can't talk upstairs? Beer's the only distraction now..." He lit up another load of pipe and showed he was ready to listen to Fin now.

[Finley Ward]

Finn was mildly irritated that they were talking about him, but his overwhelming reaction was one of relief that this Bishop bloke had actually agreed to remove them both from what, in Finn's view, appeared to be a dangerous and volatile position, and the sooner he was out of it, the happier he'd be... He shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, a subconscious action he wasn't even aware of, as he waited in the corridor outside for Bishop to stop with his patronising words and foreign conversation. He'd expected Bishop to insist they stayed upstairs - maintain his position and make with the threats. People with money wooed their targets in two ways; the first way, that was with kindness and sweet words and cash... the second way involved being kicked until you couldn't feel it any more... Upstairs, away from the public eye, and among strangers who knew his name... No, it was safer to be downstairs - that would make him feel infinitely more comfortable. 's damn strange... but seems they're going for the first way... an' what does that tell ya...?

And besides, it seemed he'd got things more on his level. His terms. This was a good sign - beneath the paranoia the sensible, business part of Finley Ward informed him this looked to be good business - they were keen to have him on their side. Whatever this Bishop guy wanted, he wanted it badly enough to bend to Finn's paranoid instincts, put up with his nerves, and even take the discussion elsewhere. If this were a simple trap, it would have been sprung by now - mucking about would not have been tolerated for a moment.

If it were a simple trap...

Several pointed thoughts made themselves known to Finn, and he tucked them away for future reference. Strangers might come to him, with his name and his situation, and try and use him to their ends - but that didn't mean such a deal couldn't work both ways... Finding out who exactly these guys worked for would be a good start - or more importantly, who they worked for... Nico could fill in the blanks there. An' once that's sorted, it's all.... fuckin' easy. Yeah... We'll see who's patronisin' who, then... eh?.

A slight and nasty smile twisted Finn's lips at this, the first moment of control he'd felt since he'd set foot in the 'Den on this excessively surreal day, where each flicker that passed seemed to bring a new and unexpected twist to his life. And none of them happy and fun. But his thoughts, and his smile, were cut abruptly short as Bishop hit the bottom of the stairs and turned to him - Finley almost fumbled the catch and dropped the heavy coins - it was something of a surprise to be so casually handed such a great sum of money. The arm around his shoulder was no great reassurance - no, it was patronising and overfamiliar, and deliberately so if Finn had any way of reading people at all - he shrugged it off and made the purse vanish into his bag as quickly as possible, with the rapid, nervous movements of one who hopes to the gods he's not being watched. Money like that... in the 'Den? What the fuck is with these guys...? Shit... if anyone saw that, the first thing... shit... no. Don't think about it... Stash it away, follow him to the bar like nothing happened... simple. Do it... stop pissin' about...

And right away, more throwing money about. Okey... so... these guys have... sponsers'a some kind... or, an' this is much more unlikely, or I'm talkin' to the BOSS here... nah. This Bishop bloke is a fuckin' lackey... like me. Only on the payroll... so who's the boss, I wonder...? 'cause that... that's what's gonna keep me skin in one piece, innit...?

Finn forced himself to relax as much as possible, and as his mind searched for the benifits of the situation, the ways he could put himself back in control and not just be a foolish pawn, he felt something of his old self return. The quiet familiarity of the bar, it's equally quiet patrons - being on common ground - this was another bonus. Finn took a seat gladly and accepted beer, knowing as he did so, they woo ya in two ways... the first way's money... Without letting this cross his face, he took a deep swallow of the beer and listened, silently still, to Bishop's words.

"What's on me mind...? Ah, not much that y'can't help wiv, I'm sure... Now, I got two problems here. I don't know where ya know me from. Ya could'a met me anywhere but... an' I'm sure y'll understand this problem... sometimes there are people who know ya, an' ya wish they didn't know ya, right...? So I'll talk to ya, but I'd much rather know how ya know me first. I'd be a lot.... happier wiv that... Y'unnerstand?" Finn grinned at Bishop cheerfully, feeling far more comfortable with the situation already. It was much easier to feel safe down here, beer in hand, knowing that they were going for the 'throw money around' technique first.

"And problem two is..." Finn added, after a moment, fishing his pipe from his bag absently as if he weren't concentrating on either his words or his pipe overmuch, "I got no fuckin' idea what you want from me... an' I ain't happy takin' money off a bloke unless... I know what he wants in return fer it." Or he's never gonna notice his money's gone... This was obviously not going to occur in this situation, but it wasn't something you voiced outloud to a relative stranger either. "So c'mon - tell me what the fuck you want, eh?" Finley grinned, his words friendly, and kept his eyes on Bishop carefully - now the two of them were at the bar, sitting face to face, this could be a man to man conversation. He thumbed tobacco into his pipe as absently as he had fetched it out, and lit it with a moment's glance down, returning his gaze intently to Bishop as soon as he was done.

[Jadmai]

Sitting at the bar, Bishop shook his head at Finley in a general manner.

"Well, you've ceratainly pegged one thing: I am no fuckin' crook. I have," he took a sip from his beer, "never contacted someone before--like this. I have the stones to admit that much. And yeah, I know your goddamn name, I know most names. Names of people who have been clinked up, or should be...either way, it's in my profession. Does it matter that damn much to ya? Besides Finley," Bishop tugged on his pipe, "I'm willing to wager that you might be a vile enough fucker that if I put it out that I want to know your name, I'll get several returns of choice names people have for ya in certain circles, but eventually I'd come up with your surname."

Bishop clenched his pipe between his lips as he looked over the bar blankly, only leaning his head over towards Finn direction as he finally spoke up again, "Now, you want to know what this mark is--you couldn't take it in more comfortable settings--that's fine. I'm gonna start slowly and you just pipe up if you miss something."

"The kings decree: you read it, or heard about it--I'll tell ya anyways: every damn adhiel has to leave town or be forced out. It's really that simple. I'm one of those half-breeds--don't worry about me."

"Anyways, there are the damn bleeding hearts that want to save everyone, but that is just not going to happen. Everything adhiel is going to get washed from this city. Now most people, don't give a shit about this, because they don't think it will be a bother to them in anyway, but this is huge--washing these bastards out will create all kinds of new openings. Can you comprehend the pure amount of crap that will be left behind? Pots, pans, chairs, jewels both fine and not, clothes, horses--whatever, it'll all get turned into the goverments hands, it will be sold in auctions, and the Office of the Interior will take it's profit, and turn the shit over. Because honestly it's better if this shit is all sold in a big boom, because pushed into the market, it will drive the prices down, and that will bad for everyone."

Bishop laughed loudly at himself, "Damn, I was sincerely going to try and not sound like myself but it turns out I can't...I'm willing to guess you can deduce from all that shit, where I work. Yeah, I'm about as straight and narrow as it gets in this town--before I'm washed out, for having my mother's ears--if ya savy."

"But you don't care about the big run, just where you come in--I need you, to run up the bids on certain aucitons, that I will be in charge of, to a certain amount. When you reach that amount, and win, I will turn around hand you a doctored recieit of how much you payed--that's where your money comes in, you'll get ten of the auction. That's your cut. That can't be negioatiated. The next part can be, and that is where you can really make some money--but that info is only coming if you want in on this, if not, we are done. And if not, I would like my purse back, it's only leaving here with someone who's working on this, and a few choice guards of the Office of the Interior will make sure of that. They have a personal interest in that."

Bishop, his throat dry from talking pushed the tankard to his lips, and gave a sidelong glance to his new friend, and quickly and flatly saying, "Don't try and spot them Finn, they aren't your guard clothes type." That wasn't threatening at all towards Finn, just simple information, though it was no doubt going to feed his paranoia, "I don't know where they are either." Bishop said and shook his head, but then he lightly he shrugged, as if he was used to that sort of thing. Everything would remain fine, as long as everything remained fine.

[Finley Ward]

Finley listened carefully and silently, taking the odd swallow of his beer as if this conversation were the most natural and least stressful thing he'd ever taken part in - but his mind worked furiously behind his calm demeanour, reminding him repeatedly of all the good reasons he should be feeling a bit nervous right now. There were certainly plenty of them, and the more he heard from this Bishop character, the less comfortable he felt. Things.... simply didn't seem to be adding up...

...somethin' very suspicious about this whole thing... can't put me finger on it, jus' yet, but there's somethin' that... just ain't right... mmph... nah, well - I'm a vile enough fucker ta be suspicious of you, ya smarmy bastard... yer lying to me, ain'tcha? Office of the fuckin' interior - yeah, I ain't so sure you're as on the level as ya make out, with yer whores an' yer opium... or mebbe the job's twisted ya up, so yer virtually one'a us anyways, just with a fancy official title, that it...? Either way I don't trust ya far as I could throw yer, Bishop... but that's cool, that's okay, jus' keep talkin', we'll see where this goes first...

Certain things didn't exactly seem to add up, at least from Finley's limited knowledge of Bishop's topic of conversation - and it was extremely limited. 'Office of the Interior' simply sounded like government stuff of some kind, and government stuff had never been a keen interest of Finley's, except perhaps in the area of avoiding being arrested. This, coincidentally, seemed to be why Bishop knew him - or that was what he was implying. So, maybe this Office of the Interior had something to do with... immigration...? ...otherwise, he knows me from somewhere else, 'cause it ain't like I been in this shithole of a city long enough ta piss anyone off proper... Briefly, the thought of Dort crossed Finn's mind, enough to make him briefly bite his lip and wince, ever so slightly. There had been a really good reason he'd left the island, and he lived in slight, irrational, paranoid fear of that... eventually catching up with him. He put it abruptly from his mind, unwilling to dwell on it - not guilt, but fear of retribution was the major emotion, and fear was not a good look for conducting business.

Finn took a long swallow of the beer, hoping his momentary lapse to paranoia would go unnoticed by Bishop.

And the adhiel thing was news to Finn - not that he particularly cared what happened to the pointy-ears, made no odds to him - except... Emi... bollocks. She's... one'a them, ain't she? Crap... well... if she's such a fuckin' liability... mebbe it's better to jus'... eh, let the girl go... 's no great loss, we got 'er for what we needed 'er for - so mebbe that'd be an excellent way a' tyin' up the loose ends, as it were...? mebbe.... should bear this adhiel thing in mind. Might be useful, in th' future...

Meandering thoughts, wandering all over the place - Finley's thoughts mirrored Bishop's words, and he was grateful to be hauled out of them and back into the present as Bishop announced he was finally getting to the point. Not that Finn minded being given more information - no, the halfelf was welcome to natter on for as long as he liked and give up as much information as he felt necessary - which was the problem, Finn supposed - would a real government official really accidentally drop all that into the conversation? It seemed... unlikely. Finley mentally labelled the whole conversation, and the man conducting it, deeply suspicious, and tried valiantly to move away from what was rapidly becoming a deep, complex, frustrating spiral of thoughts going off at tangents at every opportunity, and providing him with nothing but paranoia and suspicion.

Concentrate: listen up, Finn... lots of time for worryin' about this lyin' cunt an' his motives after ya hear him out...

"Nah, nah... hold up a second. 'Cause, call me stupid, but I don't see what any a' this shit has to do wiv my lady friend, an' helpin' me find 'er..." Basically, forgery scam, innit? An' none too neat, either... but workable. Mebbe. Finn took another draw on his own pipe while he thought of this, briefly, and then grinned at Bishop, "Don't worry, I ain't about ta walk off wiv yer money..." ...unless I've convinced ya yer not losin' it first... "...so don't bother wiv the guards threats - yer lookin' at a man who values his skin more than that, an' I think ya know that. But yeah, this still ain't makin' a great deal'a sense ta me - see, major thing here is, yer lookin' to hire... eh... a vile fucker like me, eh?" Finn grinned slowly, the insult meaning little to him - but it was important not to let this guy think he could just treat his 'hired help' like shit and think it'd not stink, "What's... someone like me gonna be doin' in an auction house - don'cha want someone who... looks the part? Or is that bit gonna be in me expenses? Anyway, whatever... keep talkin', part two..." He waved a hand vaguely as if to encourage matters along.

He'd still not exactly agreed to this yet, but neither was he lying about walking off with the cash - it'd be a neat enough way to work this out to simply dump the coins on the bar and let the 'Den's customers see for this Bishop guy, if things turned... unpleasant.

[Jadmai]

Bishop as if a little annoyed that he couldn't keep Finley calmed, so when he commented about the guards it was almost a hiss, "Finley, I ain't trying to threaten you god dammit, I'm just telling there are guards here that I don't even friggin' know about, watching that bag. Shit, for all I know the damn thing could be a booby trap."

Bishop mopped his brow with his bare hand, this was supposed to be a simple offer to make money and have some opium and sex, and be on their merry fucking ways, but this guy had to be such an untrusting bastard--even when it came to something that should suit him just fine. Still, Bishop, was every bit the politican, and kept his cool.

"I have the girl." Bishop said flatly. "She's clinked up, hell she almost seemed happy to be put away. "She's become quite unpopular." Bishop seemed to be a little more comfortable now, that Finn was being more himself. "She's in CD, in one of the 'suites' as we like to call them. A -nice- cell--all that means is she is protected enough from the other swine, so that she won't be killed. I gave orders to have here held indefinitely, but of course, the right person with the right clearance could bail her out." Bishop finished with a smile.

Bishop took a swig of his beer, and tapped out his pipe, but wasted no time in loading another.

"There is no part to fit, but if you want to you can. I don't think you get the scope quite yet, and I don't blame, ya. This won't be one big auction, the quanity of shit is too big. There are going to be several auctions, held any place they can be. Right on the streets, right in the abandoned Adhiel quarter. Commoners will be abundant, since most the wares will be common shit."

"Now, yes, Part two: dealing with the stuff you win, and selling of the receits. Finley, the most valuable part of all of this, and the most important part, is meetings I will arrange for you to sell these receits for prospective buyers. Those vouchers are with lot of money to some people, not their face vaule, but I would wager around five crowns a piece, but like I said you can barter for that price, and that all goes in your pocket--so if you have any skill in bartering this would be the time too show it off. Also, if you take the shit you win from the auctions and put it an account in the bank of Pecunia, you can work out prices for people I set up for you to meet there. I don't care if you dig through their shit first and pick out what you like--no like it matters to anyone who ain't never seeing it again, and if they do, well it's just part of the price they pay."

Bishop exhaled from his pipe and took a moment to make sure he had goten everything out, "So that's the offer, if you can handle this task on your own, I can see you making at least one hundred crowns. Working with someone else, might net you more...getting more auctions donw and such."

"And to sweeten the deal, and to show that I am earnest, if you agree, the whore is yours, I'll get here out of CD--possible by tonight, if not then, perhaps the next day, no later than the day after tomorrow."

"Now, what have you got to say Finley?"

[Finley Ward]

Bishop's reaction to the comment about the guards was an interesting one... Interesting, but vaguely worrying - there was no telling how these suspected guards might react to Finley walking away from this chat - a chat with a member of the Office of the Interior - if that's what he really was. ...guards here ya don't even know about, huh...? mm, ya playin' this one on the sly, I'm guessin' - knew there was somethin' funny about ya - well. That's a bit'a information worth holdin' on to, ain't it...? Finn watched the man carefully as he mopped his brow and continued speaking - he seemed to be nervous, from his tone, from the amount he was sweating. Perhaps he was just as nervous as Finley himself, if not more - but for completely different reasons, of course. That made him pliable, maybe - if you found the right ways. Mind you, the guards themselves, they might not be so easy to persuade. Men with bigger muscles than brains tended not to be the type you could persuade, at least if you were doing your persuasion with words and not with a four foot piece of wood with nails in it.

Jus' how easy is it gonna be ta walk outta here with the money, even if I have got this Bishop fucker's blessin'? Sounds like, not so easy... hmm. Gotta be worth the risk though...? Shit... this just gets better and fuckin' better....

His words on Tanaquil were somewhat reassuring... at least she ain't goin' nowhere... and with that part of his business slightly more under control, Finn found himself quite prepared to listen Bishop out on this one - his mind was fairly made up on the whole deal, sketchy and uncertain as it seemed. It involved a lot of money, and a lot of scams, but the players involved also seemed not entirely professional - so there was room for manoeuver, maybe, and that was more than enough to make it worth taking on. For the time being.

Mmmm... this whole thing... lots of money in it for me, ain't there...? So... am I bein' set up as a scapegoat for this or... what? Where's this Bishop's money comin' in? That's the question ya gotta be askin', Finn - find out what's in it fer him... then ya know if he's gonna fuck ya over... an' I rekkon he will, the slimy bastard... Ahh, he's gotta. An' thas' cool - jus' gotta see it comin', an' knowin' it's comin's 's gonna make it easier, eh...?

Finn had... well, he'd made up his mind. There was a lot of money sitting in his bag at the moment, and if all it took to carry that money out of here was to agree to the plan, then it'd be stupid not to. The Dortman paused, drinking the dregs of his beer and then setting the glass back on to the bar with a great deal of care as he thought it over.

"Okay, okay.... I'll agree to it, but I gotta condition. I want the bitch tonight, ya hear me? Ya get m'lady friend outta her cosy cell an' into my possession tonight, an' we got a deal..." Finn pursed his lips slightly in thought, and added after a moment, "I'd hate ta hafta hand yer money back now in front'a all these people... Now, ya give me a way of gettin' to her, or ya bring her to me. Either's good. I like to get one business wrapped up before I take on another, y'unnerstand?"

[Jadmai]

Bishop stood up, and put out his pipe, "Well, how about right now then, Finley. We can get it...taken care of...right now, if you want."

Bishop waved for Finley to follow as it looked like he was leaving the Den, just as they were about to leave, someone leaned out to and grabbed Bishop's arm.

"You got everything worked out?"

Bishop instinctively reached towards his belt, though there was no blad plainly visible.

"Yeah, yeah, everything was going just fine, until you almost made me piss myself. So let me fucking go."

The man briskly let go, and Bishop brushed off his sleeve, and continued to walk out.

A man with a carriage was stationed outside the door, and Bishop got in and left the door open for Bishop.

"Caer Doom." He told the driver.

Bishop looked over at Finley and asked, "You aren't hiding the fact you plan on killing her too well. It'll nether for me if you plan on killing here in there, but I can clean it up--or do you plan on taking her somewhere? I would prefer it, but I have a feeling you don't really care much for what I prefer. Not even trusting someone of who handed you 85 crowns, and is delivering you someone you have 'business' with right to your feet."

[Finley Ward]

How 'bout right now...? Yeah, right now's good enough fer me...'s fuckin' perfect... I mean - don't matter ta me what happens after, once I got what want outta this deal... does it? "Great." Finley murmured, pleased his demands had actually been met - he wasn't certain he'd have backed out of negotiations if they hadn't, after all. He'd not expected Bishop to agree to it quite so readily - he'd expected umming and ahhing and putting it off - he'd expected this Bishop character to be less in control and less able to produce the promised goods than he made out. As with all people playing at crime and respect, playing it up, and not as honest as it could be paid off sometimes - intimidating your opposite into what you wanted. It was the way things went - you exaggerated a bit about your power and position, and that got you what you wanted, and maybe you could actually pull the strings you said you could, eventually.

But no - this man said he could produce Tanaquil right now, this instant - get Finley into the prison and out again with the girl before the eveningtide was out. That was... convenient and great, of course, but unexpected.

Stupid fucker... he's givin' away all the fuckin' rewards before I've done shit fer him... He's clearly not done this before, 'as 'e...? Ah well - no matter... 'f he has ta learn th' hard way that this way ain't wise, then that's how he has ta learn, eh? He'd only hafta learn it once, 's what I'm guessin'....

Finn followed Bishop absently towards the door, thinking things over - now this close to Tanaquil, to achieving the end he'd set out to do (and so early in the day, as well!) left him pondering exactly what he'd do to her once he had her - and this was pleasant enough, in a passing way. This had certainly been the weird day to crown all weird days - coincidences and odd circumstances racking up to make the day something you might tell your grandkids, if you ever intended to have any... and Finley certainly didn't. And okay... maybe there were certain bits of the story you wouldn't want to tell your grandkids, but that'd all depend on what happened with the brat Tanaquil, wouldn't it...?

He was interrupted, once again, from his thoughts, by something Bishop did - or, in this case, by something done to him. A stranger grabbing his arm. Ahh, so these guards are real... yeah, 'course they are. Interestin'... The Dortman made a good effort at keeping the smirk from his face at Bishop's nervousness - he'd reached for his belt, anyway - which suggested he was a more than a bit on edge. Which was the perfect situation for Finley - if he's the one on edge, then I'm the one callin' the shots, eh? An' this Tanaquil thing only goes ta show...

Once the little scene was over, Finn followed Bishop silently through the door, to the carriage, and inside, where the stranger ordered the driver to Caer Doom - a place Finley had never heard of, but could take a damn good guess at. Its name had those inviting overtones you had to associate with a place you never wanted to be. If it hadn't been for the two beers and the slight feeling of superiority - the feeling that he'd got one over on this Bishop guy already - Finn might've felt nervous of the place. If it hadn't been for that.... the beer, as always, was the overriding factor.

"Killin' her...? Now why'd ya say something like that...?" Finn raised an eyebrow in Bishop's direction in a casual dismissal of such an idea - half that, and half a knowing, uncaring acceptance at such an observation. "Bitch owes a friend a'mine money... I'm jus' pickin' her up fer him. Tha's all my end a' the deal is, anyways - fuck knows what happens after I drop her off. None a' my business, issit?" Finn gave Bishop a look, implying, yeah, 's none a' my business, an' that makes it even less your business... so y'can fuck off with yer observations, eh...? "So yeah, I'm takin' 'er somewhere... so ya don't need to piss yer pants over that bit, mate." Finn repeated the slightly scornful look - tinged with a slight amusement at Bishop's nerves, and then fell silent, willing the journey to Caer Doom to take a short enough time to prevent any further attempts at conversation with this idiot who'd handed him eighty five crowns and Tanaquil Di Veria on a plate.

[Jadmai]

The ride was short and uneasy, just like Bishop for the first bit, until he suddenly burst out laughing.

"Yeah, I know she owe's ya some money. We'll just run in and get that from her then." He said with a laugh. "Finn, give over, I don't give a shit what you do with her, as long as it not on my watch. You should consider some opium for those nerves." Bishop shrugged and laughed a little more, "I have people killed allll the time, don't worry about it."

Bishop just gave Finn a sidelong glance and looked forward.

As they finally reached their destination, Bishop lead Finn down shady stairs, where one guard stood.

"Sir." Was all he would say.

"Just gimme your damn keys."

"Yes, sir."

It was dark, and all that could be heard was the sound of keys exchanging hands. After Finn's eyes would adjust he would see a two large portcullis' which protected a door. The two portcullis acted as a lockdown for both sides. Bishop quickly undid the lock, and hefted the portcullis as high as he could, which happened be just high enough for Finn to fit through.

The push from behind was sudden and sturdy as the strong back guard throw Finley in between the two portcullis' and Bishop slammed it down.

"You can yell and scream all you want, but this place was made for that. You can rot here, if you won't shut and listen."

Bishop lit up a pipe, and took a drag off of it, then offered some to Fin. "You raped a woman in Dort. That whore that wouldn't dance on your lap, she had other reasons, you could sort of say she was your...half-daughter, or at least she is your daughters, half sister."

It was beginning to come clear that Bishop only had one play, but it was rather nice.

"I can ship your criminal ass back to Dort, where they will...whatever, the fuck it is over there. But if you're gonna help, and your are in this for good, you had better speak up now, in your full agreement--no, you're not going back to Dort. You can fucking die right here."

Bishop took his own purse and banged it against the iron bars of the portcullis, at which point the purse itself started to make a sickening buzzing sound, and it looked as it something started tear itself out from it.

[Finley Ward]

This morningtide had been a long, unhappy and stressful time for Finley. What with eveningtides full of ghosts, waking to a splitting headache, and then apparently insane people keeping bar at the 'Den followed by a healthy dose of paranoia at even more strangeness... and all this with the hangover to end all hangovers... worry, and an obscure, vague fear had kept him wound tight, taking his paranoid tendencies out on the situation in a blundering attempt to make it secure, to make himself feel safe again. He'd never been too good at dealing with people... the damn things always seemed to fuck him over in the end.

And now...?

There was little time for Finn to react to it, less for him to protest - and after the uneasy coincidences and strangeness of the 'Den, the odd circumstances he'd kept finding at every turn, the coach ride and the excessive amounts of cash and the strangers knowing his name and business so well - all of these fears and doubts... simply dissolved like so much huffed-out tobacco smoke in the face of being right about it all...

It was... it was a blessed relief. And, quite unexpectedly for all concerned, mainly Finley himself, after barely a flicker's astonishment and not one single curse, the short conman reached for the bars of his new cage, leant his head against them, and laughed, helplessly, his shoulders shaking with it.

"...fuckin' hell... hahaha...! oh man... haha! I geddit now... ohh, I unnerstand.... hah! ...oh, very well played, 'Bishop' - nah, I am impressed - ya had me doubtin' meself then, fer a bit... jus' a bit... oh, you had me goin'..." Finn sniffed, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye and grinning at his captor in a pleased, helpless sort of way, listening to the threats as with the charmed expression of someone greeting an old friend. "Tha's all it takes, my full agreement...? Or I... I fuckin' die right here...? haha...! nah, you don't disappoint me one bit... I had you fuckin' pegged, 'Bishop', mate - I had you fuckin' pegged for the guy that'd trap me right from when I met ya... an' I weren't disappointed, w's I...?"

Finley stretched, and paced the small confines of the makeshift cell, grinning to himself thoughtfully - the occasional cough of laughter still kicking through, as if being locked in a cage with small chance of escape was his idea of a great time. He paused, and shot the man who called himself 'Bishop' a sidelong glance, still smiling, "...daughter, though, eh...? Ah, c'mon now - I'll admit I ain't the most responsible guy y'ever met, but I ain't nobody's dad, that's fer sure... rekkon I would'a heard about it, rekkon I wouldn't be walkin' the streets here, I'd be... locked in some Dort farmhouse takin' care of the wife whose dad insisted on it, eh...? either that or... y'know. Pushin' up daisies..."

He seemed not even remotely concerned by either option - the adrenaline-fuelled euphoria at the relief had washed away most of his worry and doubt - now there was neither, only the cheery certainty of it. Much less concerning than imminent possibility of it. At least, with being threatened, you knew where you stood, and Finn opened his mouth with the same slightly stress-crazed grin on his face to same something at least vaguely along those lines...

...which was when he found that no, this Bishop character still clearly had the ability to surprise him.

Finley stumbled back a little at the unexpected noise of the purse hitting the bars - it was enough to make him jump - and his eyes stayed fixed to it in horrid fascination as the thing started to buzz and... tear open?! A sudden familiar lurch of dread killed the equally sudden high - a switchback of emotions that left him dizzy and startled with it, "Wh... wh-what the fuck is that...? C'mon man... play fair - the kickin' an the shoutin' I can fuckin' deal wiv but..." Finn backed away as he spoke, his hands raised in a subconscious gesture of submission, until his head hit the bars of the opposite portcullis with a dull thunk and he could get no physically further away from whatever was in the purse. "C'n we jus'... talk about this? ...I mean... y'don't wanna jus' kill me, right - I imagine there's... eh... some sort of favour I could do ya...? Y'want me agreement to somethin', eh...? Y'got it - jus' say the word, it's done, it's agreed..."

He bit his lip white - always with the fuckin' surprises today - everything as uncertain and infirm as shifting sand. He began to wonder if actually, he was just... No, it was too stupid to even think... to think it aloud meant to make it...somehow... real...? Something to do with too much alcohol and repeated hits to the head - and he'd woken to a world viewed through cracked and distorted lenses, where his paranoia manifested itself in these... slightly surreal ways... as if to think it... were to make it...

No, for fuck's sake... stoppit...! now is not the fuckin' time for this!

For some reason, that made perfect sense right now - it seemed a moment of pure clarity in a day otherwise riddled with uncertainty and unlikely fears realised. He wondered idily for a flicker if some far more imaginative and unlikely fear he harbored might happen... or something from a strange and disturbing nightmare he'd once had... like being hoodwinked by doppleganger zombies, or...

"...nooo... stoppit... think it, it'll fuckin' happen...stoppit, stoppit..." Finn cursed himself, somewhat obscurely from the point of view of outside observers, and then laughed at his own stupidity, his own fear he was actually going insane - it was such a stupid idea, it couldn't be right. It was a very nervous laugh, "...fuck... fuck, I gotta... no, I gotta go... I'm not... look man, I jus'... whatever you say......" he added, slightly incoherently, the mental swtichback that had plunged him into the depths of misery and fear threatening to change gear on him again and laugh at what couldn't - what patently couldn't be anything other than some diseased display of his own imagination - and at the stupidity of his own rising belief that this was actually the case.

Today has... hah... today has really not been a good day...

[Jadmai]

Bishop agreed to Finley’s acceptance, but what with happened next he sat and watched in fascination.

At least one of the three men were frightened by Finn’s outburst and it wasn’t Bishop. The guard that had shoved Finn inside was trying to yank the keys away from Bishop in order to let Finn out, however, Bishop had an iron grip and he was too fascinated by Finn at the moment.

Some time passed, a flicker or a yahren it was impossible to tell for Finn, or anyone else at the scene, before Bishop finally spoke up.

“You alright, mate?” Bishop asked with genuine concern. “You understand the tatic, right?” He asked, on the edge of explaining himself. “I’m desperate, I want your help. I wasn’t too convinced in your help, I had to do something. But things are right now—you alright now?”

“I have your help now. Shall we go on to see your inmate? The two of you can be alone if you like.”

[Finley Ward]

While Bishop spoke, his oddly reassuring, genuine words hit a backdrop of rambling, quiet noise - Finley could be heard softly muttering something entirely unintelligable to himself under his breath, and his eyes flicked around the floor and walls of the place like flies unwilling to settle on anything. His hands shook, though he appeared not to notice it at all as he spoke quite entirely to himself - words perhaps of nervous reassurance, perhaps more to cleanse the buzzing thoughts and nervous tension he'd found himself wrapped up in. After a burn or two, and apparently in the middle of a sentence (though Finley was mumbling so incoherently it was almost impossible to tell) - he bit his lip and closed his eyes, both hard - concentrating, as if through sheer strength of will he could step away from the precipice of paranoia and insanity he'd found himself on and take back some brief semblance of control.

Finn took a deep breath, and clenched his hands together as if he could stop their shaking through will and force alone. His eyes seemed very dark and unblinking, fixed on Bishop's as they were, and he hesitated, dropping the gaze slightly with a vague expression of uncertainty on his face before he began to speak - and this time, out loud, with a view to other people hearing, though in a harsh low tone, as if he were not quite certain he trusted his own voice to do the speaking.

"...I'm desperate, you're desperate, an' it occurs to me neither of us fuckin' know what the fuck is goin' on here anymore...? mmm...? yeah, 'm alright, 'm fuckin' fine... 's all fuckin' gravy ta me, mate...'sss alll fuckin' gravy...." His eyes flicked to one side and back up to Bishop - and Finley laughed again, though this time it was a short, unpleasant sound and contained more misery than amusement. "...ya got yer stooge, but ya problee had me already, ya stupid fuck... an' now... eh. I dunno, mebbe ya broke me...?" Finn's face contorted into a helpless grin, nervous hysteria breaking through his jumble of misplaced fears and doubts, odd reactions at every turn - and through patchy laughter he continued, "...mebbe ya did, but then... mebbe..... maaay-bee, ya ain't what I think at all, mate, are ya...? mebbe what I think really don't matter - an' what my mind imagines ain't got a patch on what you really are...? an' mebbe next time I say 'yes' t'ya I'll be findin' a knife between me shoulderblades before ya can say 'okey dokey'... hmmm...?"

There was almost challenge in his eyes now - and his expression definitely didn't look quite.... right - something slightly unhinged in it, something a little crazy and carefree and intense. He paced towards Bishop in the small space between the bars to look him right in the eyes, searchingly, for a long, long moment - as if he were looking for something, anything that might explain to him for just one flicker how it had all ended up here. So very suddenly, so without warning - so much uncertainty to pour on a man already paranoid coward enough to win any race that began with the words, 'oh shit, look, it's her brother!'

"Or jus' maybe, it's jus' I dunno what the fuck is goin' on any more, an' whatever ya say, I'm gonna say yes to... right now... I couldn't give a fuck. I value my skin too highly.... but I guess I told ya that already...?" Finn smiled softly to himself, wryly - and something of his old self seemed to be contained there. It was a kind of defeat in his eyes now, a cheerful tiredness that spoke only of resignation. "Ya have my help now..." He repeated, somewhat sarcastically, but a shadow of the spite he might have held were he more certain of his own mind, "...so... shall we go...?"

Something had certainly broken in Finley - though quite what it was he wasn't certain; and whether he'd recover himself, beyond what he still half-believed could only be a really nasty hallucination, remained to be seen.

[Jadmai]

Bishop breathed through flared nostrils as Finn spoke, he own chest heaving from some adrenaline rush, as Finn dished out each possibility to him.

"And maybe Finley," He said unlocking the portcullis to let himself in. "maybe I don't give a shit." And he unlocked the door to the next chamber in front of them.

The corridor that Bishop opened up for them was long with only one turn at the end. If Finley had ever seen a prision than this one would only stand out in the sheer number of cells, and how small they were. They also housed all women.

"Imagine if they found out your dirty deed..." Bishop playfully murmured.

Finally they came to the only turn, and there at the end of the hallway was the only cell in this sector, it was bigger and the bedroll was actually more than a few fingers thick. The woman inside was all clad in white, just like the rest, though she seemed less haggard, as she lay peacfully sleeping on her own...no guards here...

"Well," Bishop said throwing the keys to Finley, "my bait, your prize, what's the difference. She's yours." Bishop licked his upper lip and inclined his head at Finn. "My methods are fucked but you can't say, I don't deliver, can you?"

[Finley Ward]

dirty... deed...? which one...?

an are we talkin'..... real....

"Or.... 'maginary...? mmm..... thought's'a Tana.... neh, she's not part a'this... Tanaquil an' Dort...? I don't...."

Thoughts of Tanaquil and Dort, and whatever else he'd done outside this odd day of unlikely events seemed distant, seperated by a haze of unreality. None of that existed, while this existed - and it seemed impossible that Finley's shady past could have any impact on this surreal present, when he wasn't certain the present existed at all.

"...'f it don't... 'f I don't an' this don't an' I'm jus'... wanderin' around... heh... it's all cool, it's all good - gonna wind up dead soon enough if it's not gonna be later, anyway... an' none of it matters, eh...?"

And, therefore, none of it mattered - not Bishop, not Finley, none of these women, and indeed, nothing the Dortman chose to do. Can ya die, if all the stuff ya hallucinatin' ain't real...? I heard once, ya always wake up in fallin' dreams, right before ya hit the ground - that if ya ever hit it, ya heart would stop an' ya'd die right there...

This the same, I wonder......?


Oh. Fuckit. Tanaquil...

"Bait, prize... prize bitch, mebbe. She's.... lookin' well." Finley offered, in a remarkably level and unemotional tone - he simply looked at her for a long moment, trying to remember what exactly she'd had to do with any of this. The rambling had suddenly let up - as if Tanaquil's presence were some form of anchor of reality in the swirling maelstrom of confusion that Finn suffered. An anchor in a white dress, sleeping.

Odd... how it comes full circle ta this...

Tanaquil had been at the start of it all, right after his arrival in World's Mouth, she'd been practically the first thing to happen - and happen she had, whinging about her trunk and her life and her misfortune as if nothing else had figured for a flicker - absently Finn put a hand to his face, the scrape he'd suffered from the wall almost healed now but still a faint ridge under his dirty fingers. And she'd been at the start of today - her memory, the hunting of her. Before everything had gotten confusing and odd and unreal - before he'd started doubting his own sanity.

"I told her once, she owed me a favour. She still owes me, y'unnerstand - an' I mean ta see her pay me back." Finn added, quietly, missed the catch on the keys without flinching as if he'd never seen them coming. After a long moment looking at her - an anchor of something - he bent and collected the keys where they lay, and turned them over in his hands thoughtfully. "Saved her skin once... in the 'Den... from a hoard a' hookers thought she was turnin' tricks on their turf...." He grinned, still speaking softly, as if to himself - recalling things that held him down to the certainty of his sanity. He grinned, and it was the familiar lopsided grin he used so often - something of his old self surfacing, "Ironic, innit...?" Finn turned both the grin and the words on Bishop.

The certainty of his relative sanity, at least - since you could not call Finley's usual mental state anything approaching normal. He had at least a tenuous handle on it now, and while that was fragile it might just hold, as long as nothing else unexpected happened in the next five flickers - and he clung to it as a drowning man might cling to a sodden plank, knowing it was flimsy but hoping it might float, for just long enough to make it to shore.

"You got her drugged, or is she gonna be makin' a fuss...?"