H130, Day 189, 8 A.P. [Open]

[feq]

Vatndir enters the Open Shell, fealing as at home as he ever has in this city. With a brief wave to the barkeep, he dives into his pool for a refreshing dip, before turning to the owner.

"Has John come in this day? I imagine it would be easy to find him here, and I have a message for him."

[Stix]

"Ain't seen him out yet," says Bertram with a nod to the curious genasi. "Anything while you wait?"

[john]

Tramps in a short time later, after a long day of tax-collecting. He's in his about-sigil gear, the green cloak, the armor glinting underneath his vest, a notable and obvious money pouch, his sword peeking over his shoulder, and the beaky, vulture helm slowly sliding across the open shell. It has become something of a regular visit for him. Not for the bub, because John would never admit to such self-indulgence, but rather, because it's a question of convenience, for conversing with both his good luck charm, and other people who he has use for. Informers, giving him information where tax skips and hiding debtors are. He lets a bit of coin into the circulation, gets accurate tales, and posts a very good recovery rate for any debts or taxes assigned to him. A neat little circle of corruption and greed. Just the way John likes it.

He approaches, nodding to Vatndir and greeting him with the usual, "Fishy." Then looking to Bertram and nodding similarly. "Bertram."

[Stix]

"Hey, there 'e is," says the black-bearded barkeep with a quirk of a smile. "You bloods eat yet? I thickened up the last of the stew and made meat pies; they're pretty sodding good." He pats his potbelly, giving some cause to believe that he's a trustworthy authority where food is concerned.

[feq]

"Two meat pies and some Mead, Bertam. I Imagine it will be as good as you claim."

Turning to John, Vatndir obtains a serious look. "John, I come bearing an important request for your aid. Before I even tell you of it, I think it is worth noting that I would consider it a great mark on your character if would agree to take the person up on their request. The ofer includes a form of payment, so i don't expect you to consider it a problem." Vatndir paused, clearly waiting for something. "If you are interested, I'll proceed."

[john]

"Of course I'm interested. Everything you involve me in ends up profitable for me. Though I get the feeling this might be some kind of metaphysical or service-related reward instead of hard cold jink. That's fine, there's many kinds of value that I can calculate." He pauses for a moment, coughing, and comments, "The air in here kind gets to my lungs sometimes... makes me feel...., how do I explain... a little stuffy."

"Right, so what can I do for this person? Remember, my rates depend on how much I like 'em to begin with, if I already know'em."

[feq]

"You know them. Her, i man. The young lady with the strange voice from before. Wraith." Vat searches to see if the name settles in before continuing. "And her offer is one of physician services - an offer I imagine you'd love to take up, given your recent posting in Tensers." Vatndir again holds. This offer is good. His thoughts must settle in Johns head before he tells him of the cost of the services.

"Wraith has need of information. Information which I think you would be quite skilled in acquiring. She seeks information on her missing son, Aerin, a half-elven boy; and of my father, X'artru Blackmantle a Cambion" Vatndir's expression goes strangely serious and his eyes glow bright red. "I do not know why I thought it necessary that Wraith loose her son. My mind often does things which i cannot comprehend. However, I cannot allow my mind to imagine such travesty without thinking of a cure. I'd expect you are that cure, and Wraith's request confirms it. It would be a personal favor to me, in addition to her offered services, that would pay for your work."

[john]

"It is possible. However it will take some time and possibly some palms to be greased. Information of this nature, or at least of any debts that either of them may owe, could be found in the Hall of Records. And by tracing the debts back... well, I suppose other information could be found as well."

"As for her services as a physician, I've yet to see proof of her skill, at least for the moment, so I'll withhold judgement as to whether that is payment enough. The first thing I will busy myself with is finding out how much effort it will take to get the information she needs. From there, we can negotiate further I am sure."

[feq]

"You don't think I'd imagine someone like her with sub-par skills do you?" Vatndir looks at him with incredulity. "I'm sure she's a djupr hugr, like you and Nilou. Furhter, I imagine that if her medical skills are half as good as her singing, you'd be in great shape."

[john]

"Of course, of course. I trust you on that." John remembers not so much her singing as her keyboard-playing, and privately winces to himself, but shakes his head and says, "I shall take your word for it, my concern is primarily how buried the information she needs is. It will be a great deal of reading and I may be the only one privy to it for some time. I may need to take notes on all of this."

[Uathach Blackmantle]

The door to the Open Shell swings open softly on well oiled hinges, permitting entrance to a cool gust of wind and oily grey rain. A familiar haunting figure, veiled and cloaked in gothick ebony raiments, and dull leaden, rain-spattered wool, steps through and pulls the door shut behind her.

Uathach takes only a moment to observe her soothing underwater surroundings, as she has been here the week before, and unclasps her cloak, carefully folding the damp garment. She removes her veil with a weary sweep of her gloved hand, revealing careworn exotic features and a gentle, wistful smile that curves her pale, full lips.

Yes, she was glad she decided to heed the Genasi's advice, and consider staying here for a night or two. Besides, she was weary from her long walk that day, and dreaded the thought of trudging back to the sad, delapidated flophouses, clustered around the Mortuary. Especially now that darkness began to creep into the skyline of Sigil the Grey.

"Good evening, cutter." She addresses Bertram with a hint of a smile, sidling alongside the cascade created multi-tiered fountain, as she approaches the bar. "I'd like a room for one for a few nights, if you have any available."

[Stix]

"Plenty," Bertram says as he sets down two plain wooden goblets brimming with golden mead in front of Vatndir and John. "Open room, or private, and for how many?" he adds on his way to the kitchen to fetch their meals.

[Uathach Blackmantle]

"A private room for myself will do just fine, thankyou Bertram." Wraith replies softly, and stifles a yawn behind her glove.

She glances about the richly decorated common room and dining area, allowing her eyes to drift over the sparsely scattered clientelle, before settling with coy, oblique gestures upon Vatndir's table; little more than a demure movement of the eyes and a slight tilt to her head, proceeding the soft blush that colors her cheeks.

Her silent hope, to draw his attention and discover if John - miserly, selfish little John - had agreed to her offer; without seeming so obvious about it. At least she hoped so. Often blunt, stumbling, although mostly withdrawn and shy, subtlety and the niceties of accepted social behaviour weren't one of her strong points.

"Are you still serving dinner here, cutter?" She asks of Bertram as he passes her. "Or has the kitchen closed for the eve?"

[TheGratefulNed]

wraithblackmantle said:

The door to the Open Shell swings open softly on well oiled hinges, permitting entrance to a cool gust of wind and oily grey rain. A familiar haunting figure, veiled and cloaked in gothick ebony raiments, and dull leaden, rain-spattered wool, steps through and pulls the door shut behind her.

Catching the door just before it latches behind the Dead, a leather-clad, scaly-skinned tiefling slips into the room and nods to Bertram with a broad grin. Taking his time heading toward the bar, Gl'Fnak approaches two humans at a table near the door - a couple of the other regulars - "how's the bub tonight, cutters?" After exchanging a brief word with them about their libations, he continues over to a stool at the near end of the bar.

admin said:

"Plenty," Bertram says as he sets down two plain wooden goblets brimming with golden mead in front of Vatndir and John. "Open room, or private, and for how many?" he adds on his way to the kitchen to fetch their meals.

The Cipher has a seat and turns to survey the room while waiting for the bartender to return from the kitchen.

[john]

Grabs his mead, and says to Vatndir, "Her son, her son... her son I'll find. If there is word of him in the archives. No one should be lost in the cage at that age with no one to take care of them." He glowers for a moment at the world, as a tiefling, scaly, approaches, and twitches slightly. "As for the father... word on cambion, or any lower-planar being of any rank or strength... that might be dangerous. Now that I've considered it. You see, my friend, any information of import on such figures is most likely protected by them, shrouded in lies and covered in the blood of those who've touched upon it."

He shrugs. "But considering the dangers I'm going to be undertaking in the Blood Pit, I don't imagine that risking my life one more time on account of a name is all that much of a problem. Especially considering.... " He pauses for a moment, as if savoring the word, "The Price."

[feq]

Vatndir smiles at John, completely oblivious to any intend emphasis on his words. Clearly, Vatndir heard 'I'll do it', and glossed over the rest. Proud of his slatr skjoldr, he slapped him gently on the back with a wet hand "Excellent. Excellent. Bertram, Another mead this Basher here, on my bill. Did I say that right?"

Knowing the surprise his offering to pay would cause, he turned to John "You've already done the job I needed, which is agreeing to talk to her. So this is payment for that!"

Vat grabbed John's arm, and pointed towards Wraith. "There the ondfullr Moer. I imagine you'd want to talk to her sooner, rather than later."

[john]

"Ondfullr Moer? You speak a strange language sometime. Friend." John doesn't pause to consider this is the first time he's caled someone something. After a moment he nods, regarding the question of planar cant. "Indeed, I could be called a basher, but that's any man who makes his trade with brute force."

[Stix]

Bertram calls to Wraith from in the kitchen. "We don't have too much stock left -- sodding busy day, it was! -- but I made meat pies out of what was left of tonight's stew. Six coppers if you'd like one." He hurries back in, setting down the house's current special in front of both John and Vatndir. He returns to Wraith promptly and adds, "I could also stand to do some more cooking, if you want something else." Spying Gl'Fnak prowling around the bar, Bertram gives the tiefling an appreciative nod before filling John's mead cup and returning it to him, once again brimming full.

[john]

John drinks the mead with a nod to Vatndir, then simply stands and waits. Fishy is leading this dance, as usual, and he's reacting. But already, certain plans and machinations are forming in his head, and his own ambitions might be furthered by this seemingly chance crossing of needs. He considers how best to profit from the situation as he catalogs the taste of the mead.

[Uathach Blackmantle]

admin said:

Bertram calls to Wraith from in the kitchen. "We don't have too much stock left -- sodding busy day, it was! -- but I made meat pies out of what was left of tonight's stew. Six coppers if you'd like one." He hurries back in, setting down the house's current special in front of both John and Vatndir. He returns to Wraith promptly and adds, "I could also stand to do some more cooking, if you want something else." Spying Gl'Fnak prowling around the bar, Bertram gives the tiefling an appreciative nod before filling John's mead cup and returning it to him, once again brimming full.

"I can relate to a busy day." Wraith remarks with a wry smile, idly plucking at a few remnants of bone dust that cling to the neckline and sleaves of her robe. "One of your meat pies and a goblet of mead will be more than sufficient, thankyou, cutter." While she waits, Wraith counts out the correct amount of coins, laying them on the bar-top, and settles down into one of the vacant bar-stools with a weary sigh. She slides her pack off her shoulders, setting the burden down on the ground by her feet.

"How much are your rooms here for a couple of nights?" She adds on second thought, and massages her sore neck with tired fingertips. After a long night of broken, restless sleep the eve before, today had not been a good day at all. It had been a struggle just staying awake and trudging through her usual daily duties at the Mortuary, where concentration was imperative. It would be nice to get a solid night's rest tonight.