RP:A Real Bag for a Steal

Summary: Josleen visits the beach in Cenril when suddenly Kreekitaka rushes at her in a rage, waving his claws wildly. The fashion designer is upset because Josleen carries a fake Kreekitaka handbag. She tells him she bought the bag from hustling orphans in Gualon. She has no idea who makes them or where the orphans sourced the fake bags. Kreekitaka privately vows to find the orphan's source and shut down the workshop of counterfeit bags. To reward Josleen for her intel, he sells to her a reduced-price, genuine handbag that doubles as a weapon. The bag when swung hard ejects spikes that are laced with poison.

Cenril Beach

Josleen hasn’t been to Cenril in a while. During her last visit she and her partner were attacked by crabs! Talking crab people, because of course. Since then a local election in Xalious, a quest to the Nameless Desert, and Frostmaw’s civil strife have kept her preoccupied. Tonight she walks off the broken cobblestones of Cenril’s southern quadrant onto the coarse sand that accrues around the troubled city’s industrial port. The smell of clams, shrimp, and, yes, crabs clings to her hair and clothing. Layer upon layer of winter wear topped by a plum-colored coat protects her from sea gusts. A wool blanket is folded over her purse which hangs off her shoulder. She finds a spot on the beach where she can sit with her back to the boardwalk to protect her from the wind — and thieves. She flattens the blanket on the packed sand and in the process reveals a fake Kreekitaka handbag which embarrassingly gets the sea critter’s anatomy wrong (and, if we’re being crude, a bit short and stubby in the antenna…) Her knees bend daintly beneath one hip and she stares out into the ocean to enjoy this rare moment to do nothing. She takes a deep breath and holds it to make the moment last.

Kreekitaka was out and about finishing up a couple of last-minute preparations before his big move. Things were going down soon--the people who had wronged him all those years ago were finally going to see who was really the man. (If Kree had been thinking rationally, he might have seen that they already considered him the man and that he'd gotten even a long time ago, but he wasn't quite feeling so good due to a thing that happened underwater not too long ago.) He was dressed plainly tonight--simple red kilt, simple red straps for shiny spiral-shell water tanks, holster for his jawblade and jawblade in said holster. He was out walking along the beach when a curious product caught his attention--looked to be similar to something he made, but the colors were a bit off. When he got closer, he realized the bag's design was wrong as well. "Wha--" Facial crushers flaring, paddles opening up and clattering loudly all up and down his back, he stalked forward and pointed at the bag with a tentacle, opening his claw and gesturing accusingly at it. "HHHTHis! You make HHHTHis!? If noTAH!, who!?" No pleasantries, no word of warning. Kree was upset. First the sea took away his right to import metal, and now the land was butting in on his profit margin! On the eve of his great triumph, too! This was entirely outrageous and he felt very righteously indignant about it, though whether his outrage was in fact righteous I have no idea.

“AaaAAH!” Josleens shouts in alarm at the sight of yet another angry crustacean in Cenril! It’s an infestation! She kicks sand towards Kreekitaka’s eyestalks (??),only to realize as the sand fans at his face that this is none other than Kreekitaka! He was easier to recognize at the yule ball in his adapted tuxedo, but here on the beach his bristled paddles and horizontal mandibles inspire terror before awe, though the two are often related and the transition from terror to awe is seamless. In fact, Josleen’s jaw stays slack. It moves at his question, but her lips are slow to shape words, and throat slower to produce sound. All she can manage is an “Iiii—-” Starstruck fans share a scripted dialogue, thrusting claws be damned, and she mutters breathlessly, “I am a huge fan of your work.”

Kreekitaka does in fact have stalk eyes and held up a claw to shield them from the kicked sand. He hadn't intended to get rough with this woman but if she was attacking him, he should respond in kind. His claw went for his jawblade--and then he paused. She said something about being a huge fan, and I like to imagine that right there in that moment they sort of froze, staring at each other, Kree with a hand on his jawblade hilt. It took quite a little while for him to adapt to this and it happened when he released his jawblade and straightened up, rolling his shoulders and shifting his weight. An odd internal rumbling came from somewhere in his chest and his facial crushers relaxed, descending to their usual mustache-like place in front of his face before he bowed gently and clenched them at her. "HHHTHank you," he said more quietly, gaining control of his emotions and deciding to go about this the tactful way. "Is HHHTHis bag your work?"

Josleen finds herself bowing forward, despite the fact she never bows. From her seated position the bow resembles more a collapse forward than a gesture of deference. She lifts her bag for Kreekitaka to have a closer look, but does not relinquish it to him. All sorts of important personal items are in there: keys, a coin purse, stale mints, a nail clipper, crumbled receipts from groceries bought over the span of the last year, magical pepper spray, lipstick so old you can smell the lead, a Hildegarde figurine (?), a romance book weak on plot but heavy of erotic scenes (!), and a fine dusting of pink powder from a blush compact that broke and opened in her purse a long time ago. “No. I bought it from a street vendor in Gualon. A boy. One of the orphans under the governor’s patronage...” Hustlers the lot of them, infected by the dragon’s greed.

Gualon. Sounded familiar. Probably another big city he'd heard spoken of in passing. Kreekitaka made a note to look it up when he got back, and then arrive there with significantly more resources to hunt down the copyright infringer. He nodded slowly. “HaDAH! he mayDAH! iTAH! himseff, or was he working for someone?” An underground ring of knock-off pursemaking—a look into the sordid world of organized trademark thievery. This was going to make a delightful quest, the narrator hummed to himself, which earned him a glare from Kree, who just wanted to find a guy and punch him until his bones started turning funny colors. And you will, Kree, you will. ...Once you quest for it. Muahahahah!

Josleen shakes her head and shrugs. "I don't know if he made it himself or works with others who made it." (But her player does know and has already dreamed up a mini-quest for Kreekitaka which Josleen's player is more than happy to NPC for him.) "I can show you where I bought it, if you like. And give you this fake so you have evidence. Which I did not realize was a fake!" Lies, but she is a professional actress and rather convincing when she wants to be. "When I bought this bag it was already two seasons out of date, and so I thought the low price was not suspicious at all. And having never seen a bonafide bag in person up close, I had nothing to judge it against. Though... if I give you this fake... how will I ever carry my things home?" She looks at Kreekitaka hopefully, her big brown doe eyes shining and long lashes quivering in anticipation of the coveted real deal, the genuine Kreekitaka handbag.

Kreekitaka is so totally going on that quest when he gets back from this extremely plot-filled uber-important RP with Laezila which I've been working towards for a bit, but first! Hm. On the one hand, taking the bag would be a great help to Kree in locating the one who did this, and partially because he wanted to fill it with rocks so he could beat somebody senseless with it, only to fill a genuine handbag with lead or something so he could really lay into someone with it. But also because that way he'd have a product to bring back to the courts for evidence. If there were courts down there. He then decided he could always buy a knock-off down there and use that for evidence, and to locate this scammer, he needed only the logo. So he reached into his handy-dandy fashionist's utility belt and pulled out a small pen and paper, and quickly sketched the lousy fake logo onto it so he'd have what he needed. "You have noHHHTHing TAH!oo compare iTAH! wiHHHTH, you say." Kree rumbled internally, thinking. She'd need some way of avoiding that mistake in the future. He was pretty good at drawing his logo, but a paper would get lost and a hat wouldn't always be worn. Really, the only solution was to get her a genuine bag, that way she had the logo on her. And really, she did alert him to this problem... with a grunt, Kree gestured fer her to follow and started walking towards the store, still making up his mind as to whether or not to charge her for it.

Josleen's player has no idea how Gualon's orc justice system works, but hopes they just headbutt each other and last one standing wins. Kree would be good at this, if so, but it is unclear. When Kreekitaka asks her to confirm she has never seen a real one in person, and to follow him, Josleen's knees go weak with anticipation. Sven's Swinging Scrotum, this could be it! Oh my gosh. Good lord. She feels dizzy. All she can do is nod her assent to follow him. Her legs feels like they're crawling with ants. She forgets her blanket, that's how hypnotized she is by this wonderful living dream (featuring a physically violent lobster-like thing; everyone's dream is different).

Upon arrival to the store, which Josleen might find to be a wonderful fantasy world like a kid in a Lego store, Kree unlocked it and led the way inside. The walls and floor were filled with garments of all sorts--dresses, jackets, hats, shirts, pants--even underwear and pajamas, for men and women--in racks all around the room. The walls were decorated with strips of color-changing fabric and tribal-looking artwork--stone carvings and engraved seashells, tapestries depicting grand battles between crabman and tremendous sea monster that actually seemed to come alive as one walked past them. There was one section decorated with huge club-like bone weapons--jawblades--and had for sale different suits of light armor. One particular wall was taken up by a rack of various bags and accessories--some that changed colors, some that glowed, some that had peculiar textures or unique properties such as being temperature-independent or featuring built-in weaponry (for the woman who wants to protect herself while remaining ludicrously stylish). It was to this wall that Kree gestured. "Pyease choose one, buTAH! know HHHTHaTAH! I mus' charge you someHHHTHing if you wanTAH! someHHHTHing more HHHTHan a basic one."

Josleen's hands itch to touch the garments in Kreekitaka's store, but she does not for she suddenly feels unworthy and small. A mayoral candidate in Xalious, a confidante of the Steward of Frostmaw, a well-respected war time nurse of Frostmaw too, once summoned by the Warlord Governor of Tristram to discuss war matters too, and she feels small now because of these dresses. Kreekitaka is a genius of branding and marketing, that's for sure. Her breath catches in her throat as she stares at the wall of handbags. She is drawn to the bags that conceal weapons. Countless times has this defenseless bard been caught up in trouble. Her fair face and small stature attract villainous characters of all types to prey upon her. Kreekitaka mentions charging her a fee and her heart sinks. Her smattering of titles earn her no gold, but take up all her time. She is broke. A little dejected she asks, "How much will you charge me for a basic one?"

One of the reasons Kreekitaka felt he was so successful--which he supposed he owed mostly to his mother, however much they resented each other--was that he happened to be very observant and a quick study. While he still held the stereotypical male thoughts of "why bother learning this useless thing" for quite a few things, like magic or fencing or any sort of sneakiness whatsoever--he'd been quick to figure out people's tone of voice and mannerisms up here, and Josleen's demeanor was quite easy to read. "A basic one? NoHHHTHing. You informeDAH! me of a faker in--where was he, you say? Guayon?--so as a rewarDAH! you geTAH! a reoh one. HHHTHe premium ones are more expensive TAH!oo make, however, so I cannoTAH! jus' give HHHTHose away. Io DAH!iscounTAH! iTAH! for you, however. You pay one HHHTHirDAH! of HHHTHe TAH!ag price on an expensive bag, if you wanTAH!." The bags with hidden weapons were labeled as being 504 gold, which divides to 168 gold even. Given that this is only just over the price of a basic bag, this is quite a deal he's offering.

Josleen's eyes bulge at the amazing deal, but she simply doesn't have the money. Just a few short months ago she would have had the money, when she had a job and a husband who also earned income, and a father who liked to dote on his only adult child. But the marriage was unhappy, she got a divorce and lost both access to husband's income, and her father's favor. Worse yet, the job she got through her husband's connections with the Mage's Guild, and after the divorce she was made reundant and turned out on her own. Her new boyfriend has always been broke as a joke. And now she resents that joke and all the men who try to control her through finances. It's indescribably embarrassing to her to not have 168 gold coins to her name, but she's too proud to reveal this. Instead, she fawns over a basic bag as if in her eyes it's the most gorgeous on the wall. To hear her coo over it you would think she had several hundreds of gold coins many times over to pay for any discounted bag, but alas, she simply fell in love with a basic one. What a twist of fate!

An interesting fact is that the tags also had a second price on them--apparently Kreekitaka offered a second option for those who weren't gold-heavy. Instead of paying 504 gold pieces, you could instead pay in blocks of iron--15 1-pound bars, to be exact. One third of that would be five bars. This was a deal offered in a somewhat smaller font, so perhaps one might not immediately notice it, and it was a strange enough deal that it might not make sense to the average customer. Still, there it was, in case she happened to spot it. Kree looked over her shoulder at the bag she apparently fell in love with--perhaps in her examination of it she'd notice the other deal on the tag. "Is HHHTHaTAH! HHHTHe one you wanTAH!.? You wooDAH! actuayee save more money if you purchase a premium bag, jus' so you know."

Kreekitaka drives a hard sell. Josleen knows in her heart that she cannot spend a single copper these days, but lust for the bag performs the mental gymnastics necessary to justify the purchase. The math goes like this: 1. It's a really good deal; I'd be a fool to pass this up; the resell value on this alone means this is basically an investment if you think about it. + 2. I'm a young, small, indefensible woman and really I should think more about my personal safety; this isn't about the bag, this is about body protection. + 3. I slave away every day to make the Anesko family's life run on rails, so don't I deserve a little something for myself = Done. Kreekitaka the salescrab wins. "Oh my gosh!" She exclaims as she moves on to a premium bag, the one she actually lusts. "I didn't even see this one at first! Oh my goodness! This is it! This is the bag! It just calls to my very soul, you know?" 15 one-pound yada whatevers, yes. "Can I get gold exchanged into those bars at the local bank then?" She doesn't walk around with iron ingots.

Astoundingly--due to Kree's status as a rich businessperson who made good on his promises--Kreekitaka had actually worked out a deal with the bank and a couple of other local businesses and the answer was yes! He nodded in answer to this question. "Yes, of course. Onyee five bars, jus' for you righTAH! now." You know, due to the whole one-third-tag-price-finder-of-bad-dudes discount. A steal, really. Now! The question becomes: which weapons system did she want in her premium bag? Was it the one with

• hidden spikes that pop out when the bag is swung like a flail, laced with a minor venom that can cause extreme pain with a scratch?
• electrical nodes and a hidden telescoping handle, allowing it to transform into a two-handed stun hammer that makes cool noises as it's swung?
• a hidden slime sprayer that automagically generates slime and can cover a target's face in foul-tasting inky stickiness from five paces when wielded like a crossbow?
• folds that snap open and become rigid at the pull of a cord, transforming the bag in a mere second into an abrasive shield great for bashing?

And of course all premium bags come with premium Kreekitaka fabric, such as color-changing textiles or sparkly glowiness. Really, she made the right move coming to Kree. No poser could ever compare with this level of handbag.

Josleen is overwhelmed by these brilliant choices. The simplicity of the spikey flail really appeals to her feminine insinct to bash all foes (mostly mice and men) over the head. The stun hammer at first tantalizes her, but on seconds thought, may be a bit too much. What if she shocks herself, or Ansel, or one of the boys? What if she accidentally kills an enemy who has an underlying heart condition? The slime spray makes her think of squids who squirt ink at predators, and this is a comparison she actually finds favorable, but will she think to arm the purse as a crossbow in a time of panic? Probably not. She enjoys a good bashing in self-defense. The shield is similarly disadvantageous because she doesn't have an instinct to wield a shield nor the strength to make it useful for ramming. Spikey flail it is! Hopefully she never whacks herself with it, or a loved one. (The flail is the most dangerous, let's be real, but Josleen has her heart set on whalloping foes with the most basic and brutal weapon.) "This one!" She swings the purse over her shoulder and poses for Kreekitaka.

Hopefully she didn't swing it too hard! General ordinary everyday swings wouldn't likely cause the spikes to pop out--one really had to get it moving in order to make it the dangerous secret weapon it truly was. Kree nodded and clenched his facial crushers, snapping his claws in tandem for a moment to give a sound similar to applause. One might even call it... aclawse!? "You're no comic," said Kree in one of those noncanonical asides, then swiftly returned to the scene before he could say anything else that might invoke my wrath. Because I've wrathed him before. It's not pretty, folks. He had to spend like three posts talking in script format. Does anybody want that? Didn't think so. "ExceyenTAH! choice," he declared, even if he personally would have taken the shield. Different tastes. "Five bars of iron from HHHTHe bank. Io even yeTAH! you carry iTAH! ouTAH! an' pick HHHTHem up wiHHHTH iTAH!." Wow. That's trust, right there. Of course if she decided to simply run off with it, there'd be another name added to his Get List, right under Alex.

Josleen basks in the aclawse, completely oblivious to Kree's breaking of the fourth wall. Her player however has decided that Kreekitaka is basically Deadpool. Crabpool. Deadcrab? Nope, Crabpool it is. Back in scene, Josleen believes she made the best choice, yes. She struggles to understand his accent in places, but gets the gist of it. Any fashion designer worth his salt has an indecipherable accent and this only adds to his allure. Luckily for Kree, Josleen isn't a spontaneous criminal. Thefts would have to be premeditated well in advance and couched in moral justifications. With no planning or crooked morality compass to speak of now, she dutifully and truthfully agrees to pay as agreed upon. "I certainly will! And should anyone try to steal the bars from me, they'll have another thing coming! I'll be back soon." And with that she sees herself out.