RP:Chase the Magic Elf

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: Red finds Zendor and asks for an update on Pelarin. Zendor reports that he hasn't seen the dragon at all, but Red isn't fussed by this update. His client has even bigger fish to fry, up in Frostmaw, and now Zendor is to go undercover. The mercenary agrees, and armed with an outdated book on elven culture, he sets off on his new task.

House (south of Kelay Way)

Gevurah isn’t here! But Alfred “Red” Gingerson is, to both Zendor’s chagrin and fortune. Red found him in a public place, and today’s theatrical spectacle included accusing Zendor of seducing his teenage daughter and challenging him to a round of fisticuffs. The frustrated-actor and fence made a grand show of fighting for his imaginary daughter’s honor, and compared Zendor disfavorably as a man who “lays with pigs and goats, and shant lay a hand on my daughter!” But now Red’s theatrics have melted away, and he regards Zendor, pig-lover and seducer of minors, with the cool and stoicism required of his real job, not his dream job. “What have y’got on Pelarin, son?”

Zendor protested against his accusations to almost no avail, not having the exotic strangeness that people find so believable, or the trustworthy red hair. So he defaulted into explaining that Red's daughter had a chin as hairy as Mesthak's and Zendor just wasn't into that. By the end of the theatrics, Zendor appeared to get quite carried away and snapped a quick jab toward Red's nose. "Try not to debase my reputation too fiercely, next time." Upon hearing the question, and seeing the corpse, he narrows his eyes to slits. Glancing towards each of the thugs, "Are you sending me some sort of message, Red? This guy Pelarin hasn't been seen since I've been South, with no leads." Just in case he unshackles his hefty iron club and uses it as a third leg.

Red shrugs casually at Zendor’s accusation. “If you see a message in this, er, what’s the word?” The word eludes him for a solid minute, which Zendor must endure in silence, before he waves a hand. “Nevermind that. If this here threatens you, then I’ve no objection to whatever conclusion y’draw, see? This man took my upfront payment and hid in this weasely hidey-hole without making good on our contract, see? But y’er here, having words with me, so I reckon you’ve no intention of hiding, and likewise I got no intention towards you.” The fence nods quickly as Zendor explains the situation with Pelarin. He seems unphased by the news and simply shrugs. “Dragons. What y’going to do? Scaly fiend probably lied down for a nap on a bed of treasure, and neither of us will be hearing of him in our lifetimes before that beast awakes again. But if y’want to keep that upfront payment, son, then y’want to keep an open mind to an assignment come a-twittering my way that’s just right for a man like you.” Pause. “Ta-blue. That’s the word.” He means tableau.

Zendor takes an impatient breath and divides the time between listening and waiting for his mouth to stop moving. "I don't know the word...who cares...yes...having words...intention towards you. Psh. Nope..." Then he thinks to himself: 'What gave a man like Red so much power? He might be a little smarter than you, yeah sure, but he's so ugly!' Then he thinks about what he would do to these three if it came down to it. He would take this iron club, see? Yes, and hit them all with it. He could see it vividly in his mind. Now nodding: "Yeah...that'll do." Says he affirmatively, while still looking at Red. It did seem like he was answering a question of some kind, what with the timing and all. Safe to say his mind was completely wide open.

Red is ugly, but that’s part of his gap-toothed charm. He gives Zendor an odd look but takes the weird response at face value to mean ‘I’m listening,’ because that’s what Red wants to hear. That’s a part of his success. If you assume things went the way you wanted them to, sometimes they actually do. “Y’familiar with the elves in Frostmaw? The refugees? A client with deep pockets wants y’to infiltrate their ranks. Go under cover, savvy? Make yourself useful to them. — and trusted They’re in a war, yea? Volunteer your aid, but report to me their every plot. What are they planning? When? Our client wants ears in their ranks, and if y’offer yours, you can expect 11,000 more to follow the 1,000 y’got already.”

Zendor of course does make sure to look very listeny at this point, and he really does try! "Elves in Frostmaw y'say?" Seems like there may have been some. "Yeah I guess I've heard some rumors about a variety of different trubbs..." He props both his hands on the hilt of his club and leans on it thoughtfully. It appears that he's weighing the options in his head, mumbling to himself at one interval, nodding at another. He casts a furtive glance toward Red, and then returns to the depths of his head. "I can do that," he says positively.

Red exhales a long, slow sigh of relief. “Good.” He nods his head several times. “Good. I’m glad, cause I lied t’y’Zendor. I lied ‘bout why I had to off that guy.” He jerks a thumb towards the corpse. “See, I had offered the job to him, but he turned it down. The client made it clear that this is top secret, and so I couldn’t let him go on living with the knowledge of this, y’see? Real shame, cause he was a good one. A real family man, y’know? Pretty wife, two boys, but it’s Fate, eh? She’ll come for each of us in the end.” He nods sagely as if Fate killed this family man, and not Red himself. “Well, I got a tip t’get y’started. Poke around for an elf lass named Gilwen. Older than sin, and more magical than 100 of them combined, they say, but she’s leading the war efforts. Get cozy with her, and take care not t’offend her elven sensibilities. Here.” He hands Zendor a well worn and dated book from a century ago titled ‘The Elven Race: How to Befriend These Noble People’ with an embarrassingly cheesy illustration of a human noble sipping tea in a treehouse in Sage with two elves.

Zendor sighs at this latest confession from Red Gingerson, "Red, how far do we go back? A month? A year? 10 years?" Zendor had no clue. "All this time and you still offer the job to this..." a sneer took over his face "...Family man?! Honestly I can't figure out who you hurt more, out of me and that dead guy!" He brought a few fingers to his forehead and shook his head in dismay. "Red, I'll do this. But you need to get this..." he gestured to Red's general self "...thing...fixed. Anyways, do you have a pen or... something?" He pulled out ye olde pages of occupational remembrance and began to jot down something important, cryptic. "...Find...Elf. Name...Gilwen." He closes up the pad and shoves this and his new guide book into a backpack. "See? Consider it done."

Red play-acts the shame-faced fence, but it truth he doesn’t give a turd. He does care about what Zendor’s putting to ink, and he snatches Ye Olde Book of To-Dos from Zendor’s clutch, reads over the note, then tacks on after Gilwen’s name ‘to offer allegiance in the fight against the dark elf invasion.’ “There, in case it ever gets found. Don’t want no one thinking y’got plans otherwise.” Sorted. Totally legit note. “I’ll check back in with ya regularly. Now, if y’don’t mind.” He nods for Zendor to leave first. He has some eavesdropping thugs to deliver into the hands of Fate.

Zendor resnatches the pad of priorities and looks it over, then does a shifty bow and tips his invisible hat, "Gingerson...!" He replaces the big club to his back and strolls happily out the door while Red makes a mess. He almost forgot all about his besmirched reputation until he got back into the bar.