RP:Crime Time
Part of the Weave Your Own Fate Arc
Summary: While unpacking a delivery of ill-gotten goods in the shop, Hudson arrives. He suggests an eavesdropping couch to listen in on the King and Queen of Larket.
Shop Beneath the Dunes
Iintahquohae has cleared the shop floor for the most part due to shipments having been brought in from the ships docked at the shore nearby. The doorways hidden beneath the sand as well as the doors leading into the shop proper are swung open, allowing in a sea breeze and a bit of sand while she mills about the stacks of crates and barrels that have arrived, pry bar in hand while one of Father's boys sits at her desk, taking inventory from an already opened crate. The seamstress pries open the top of a barrel, finding piles of undyed silks inside. She carefully dips the pry bar into the barrel and gives its bottom a tap. A hollow thunk responds. False bottom. The goods are hidden in there. Once the silks have been lifted out, draped on a nearby crate and she's tipped the barrel on its side, Iintahquohae drops to a crouch and reaches in, pulling the false bottom out to reveal a small pile of jewels. A smile briefly appears on Inks' face. “Found one, Toddy,” she calls to the large man at her desk. If it weren't for the rusty mutton chops on his face, he'd look like a baby. “First of ten, didn't they say?” He nods, dips quill in ink and jots down a note on the list he's reading over.
Hudson and his men had perhaps never visited this shop owing to the fact that it was a tad bit cleverly stowed away. But upon being alerted of its existence by his #1 goon/second in command/underboss, Milo, Hudson had insisted on paying it a visit himself. He and Milo do not knock or otherwise announce their arrival, instead preferring to simply descend the staircase, clad in sneakers and summer sweats. "Hello," says Hudson to the room at large, surveying it. Milo makes a gesture at the man behind the desk that's universally understood to mean, Scram. Both men look about thirty, shaggy hair, day old stubble. Milo's a little shorter. They have a feral look about them, werewolves the two of them, no secret either, Hudson's face has appeared in sketches in the paper plenty, so has his wife's. "Real Estate Magnate" Hudson Landon he is always called, but the criminal underbelly of Cenril knows better, they know the real estate's just to wash the money for his real gig: mob boss. It seems very unlikely that they're here to buy some dresses or talk real estate. Hudson offers Iintahquohae a disarming smile. "Maybe you can help me with a rumor I heard," he says by way of introduction, "I heard that there was a lady smuggler who was so good at smuggling nobody could find her?"
Now, if Iintahquohae were alive or...afraid of things, really, her heart would have dropped at the sound of a stranger's voice and the arrival of strange men in her shop. Instead she grips her pry bar a little bit tighter, and turns just a bit, eyeing Hudson and Milo with the blank, unreadable face Mother taught her to make when she had to think fast. Hudson's words are enough to make her eyes flicker. These two aren't shopping around for suits. Noting Milo's gesture to Toddy is met with a smile. She'll bite. “Toddy, why don't you head downstairs and see if Mother can bring up something for our guests? I think she was baking cookies last I checked.” Toddy is usually the sharper of Father's boys that worked with Iintahquohae, but the guy is hungover and frankly grateful he can dip out of whatever is about to happen. That and Mama O's cookies were great. “You sure, Miss Stitch?” he asks, but she waves him off, and to the door on the far end of the room he goes, shutting it behind her. Standing, the seamstress remains in place while flashing her own smile to Hudson. “It appears you've broken the illusion, I'm afraid. Rumor's true enough. Put enough gold in the right pockets and you're just a kind woman making clothes and jewelry.” She steps forward, setting the pry bar down on a nearby crate. “I'm guessing you boys want a bit of that gold?”
Hudson leans against a stack of crates and waits for Toddy to heed Milo's instruction to get lost. Milo, for his part, is inspecting the doors to the shop. He's Hudson's eyes and ears but he'll let his boss do the talking. "Must be an enchantment to keep the sand out," he murmurs as they wait for the room to clear. "Pretty cool," he adds. Hudson grunts his agreement but swings his gaze back to Iintahquohae, smile still lingering. "Ordinarily, you'd guess right," he says cheerfully. "I'm sure you know businesses in Cenril tend to work out arrangements whereby they pay us a few points and we take care of any trouble that happens to come about. It's all toward the goal of keeping Cenril safe. However." He pauses here. "I saw you at a big party in Larket, didn't I? Which means maybe you have something more valuable - say, information." He lifts his eyebrows. "What's your relation to the crown?"
Iintahquohae didn't particularly care for the smuggling part of her work, but considering it kept the shop open and the candles lit, she happily inherited it from her father. It takes her longer than she'd like to admit that she did recognize Hudson's face, but only in passing at the ceremony. Unfortunately, she was distracted with talking to her imprisoned sire and never did mention to catch this fellow's name. Face is familiar enough, though. She saw it in the papers when peeking over Father's shoulder occasionally. Taking that to mean she is in good company and not about to be arrested, whatever tension she felt creep up her spine melts away. “I can see that. Keeping Cenril safe and taken care of is a noble goal. We regularly make donations to the church and orphanages. Toddy and a few friends help with home repairs as well if we can. Balances out what you've stumbled upon here, I'd think.” His question causes her head to tilt just a bit. What did that matter? Fortunately for Hudson, despite part of her living via dishonest means, the seamstress is actually very honest when she talks. “Not that strong of a relation, if I'm honest. I dress Queen Josleen up for events. Saved her life once before she was crowned Queen.” She shrugs. “I wouldn't necessarily call her a friend. Close acquaintance, sure. It's best not to have friends in situations such as these.”
Hudson appreciates that Iintahquohae happily participates in the rebranding of his literal racketeering. In his mind, though, the mob DOES maintain order, better than the guards would. Everyone knows not to step out of line, or there'll be hell to pay. And, though it's a front, he does engage in urban development efforts with a goal toward improving the city - for everyone. And of course his wife, the lady Alvina Landon, was front and center when it came to charity. Criminal with a heart of gold ... when it benefits him. Helps also to have the beautiful, good intentioned wife and the charming family to smooth over any reservations anyone might ever feel like speaking aloud. "I have a similar life philosophy," is all he says, sharing a smile with Iintahquohae that speaks volumes. His head cants to mirror hers when she says she doesn't have 'that strong of a relation.' His hands slip into his pockets as he considers the response. "I also knew Queen Josleen way back when," he says. "Before she was 'Queen Josleen,' and weirdly available in doll size for my daughters to ask for their birthdays. She's close friend of my wife's. We stay family friends now, which you know, can be helpful with Cenril and Larket being a little different sometimes." That's one spin on it, the Landons as diplomats, as if he didn't have one hand in the mayor's pocket and the other over her hand, writing every mayoral decree himself. Then again, trust had to be earned in this business. She could read between the lines well enough if she wanted, and would understand why he'd put it the way he had. Hudson's shoulder lifts in a shrug. "Are you Cenril born and raised?" he asks.
Iintahquohae snorts. “She has dolls now? Wow.” She wonders if there's a tall, twiggy-looking doll floating around dressed up like her. 'Rescuer of Josleen and Sewer of the Skies' or something equally as strange. Even though her neck straightens from the head tilt previously, she finds herself wanting to return to that puzzled look. She could read between the line a bit, but perhaps not quite in the same way Hudson had in mind. “I...well, I used to have the ear of Frostmaw's Queen, before she disappeared. I'm not as close to the new one. Hildegarde. Governor Tristram seems to have vanished, so my eyes and ears there are gone as well...and with House Azakhaer no longer head honcho in Vailkrin, I'd wager I'm not as much use there as I used to be.” A roundabout way of saying she used to know more people in high places than she did now. A glove hand reaches up to brush curls from her face and push her glasses back up along her nose. Her head dips with a nod. “Adopted and raised,” she corrects. “I doubt there's truth to this, but apparently I washed up on the shore one day and somebody scooped me up and dropped me off at one of the orphanages. How about you?”
Hudson and his wife had debated rejecting their daughter's bid for the posable Queen Josleen doll - it was creepy - but had ultimately concluded that averting a tantrum was of more importance. Hudson smiles patiently through Iintahquohae's cataloguing of her famous friendships. "Yeah, well, the world changes pretty fast," he says mysteriously. He nods when she reveals she's been in Cenril her whole life, that she can remember. "Cenril born and raised as well," he says. "Mum's E.L. Landon, of the romance books that got kind of famous for awhile." He shrugs again. "Cenril's diversity and acceptance of others is something we should be proud of in a time like this." His veiled way of taking a shot at the Larket crown. He coolly appraises the woman in front of him. "Don't you think so?"
Iintahquohae is surprised to hear the author's name. Of course she knew about those books. The whole series sat on a shelf downstairs in her room, though she wouldn't admit to that. Guilty pleasures, you know? She nods. “It does. I shouldn't have stepped out of it all thinking it'd be close to the same when I came back. I am very much out of the loop of local and far off politics.” The phrasing of Hudson's words aren't lost on her but she bites, nodding yet again. “Absolutely. The unfortunate bit is if clients disagree, but gold's gold in the end. It's just a matter of it ultimately landing in the right hands. Wouldn't you agree?”
Hudson cants his head knowingly to acknowledge the point that Iintahquohae is making. "Sure, sometimes you gotta keep the relationship because of the bigger picture," he says, glancing back at Milo, who is continuing his inspection of the stairwell and doorway. "We're very impressed by this little silo you have here," says Hudson by way of excuse for his #2. He offers Iintahquohae another disarming smile. "Anyway, better to stay out of conflict with clients, in my view, get paid, and focus on what matters. Cenril. Your place here. These things are important." He's being friendly but that could also be heard a certain way. "Maybe you don't get a lot of information, but I think you should keep doing business with our friends the King and Queen. You do good work, and they trust you." He lifts his chin at one of the crates that's open, revealing beautiful fabric inside. "Wouldn't it be interesting if someone could enchant fabric to make it a one way listening device?" he muses aloud. "And then you made a beautiful couch out of it?"
Iintahquohae really didn't care for double speak, but she understood it came with the job. She plays along intermittently however, producing a smile for Hudson and nodding along at his compliments about her shop. “Why thank you. You know, if you want to know how to do it, I could just show you. My father's the brains behind all of this. We're small time, so you probably wouldn't give him or myself the time of day. Kraken.” Terribly cliché, but it's on brand, considering the eight ships they had and that tentacle choker coiled around her throat. “I guess that's my name now,” she makes a half shrug. Hudson's suggestion switches her back to playing along however, and the smile falters just a bit. Not because she didn't feel right spying on Larket's King and Queen, but because gears were turning. “I'm sure it could be done,” she replies, approaching Hudson to examine the fabric he's taken out. “Just a bit of time would be all that I needed, and someone who isn't a mage to present it as a gift. Family friends give each other gifts all the time, do they not?”
Hudson nods along with Iintahquohae's musing, though at the tail end of it he emits a thoughtful grunt. "They do," he says, "but ... you know, I'm not sure that part is wise." This is spoken in a certain tone. It can't come back on himself and Alvina. The peace must be kept. Hudson prefers other people's necks out on the line. He rubs the stubble that lines his jaw thoughtfully. "Not a gift, I think." His eyes flash with mischief as they connect with Iintahquohae's. "You'll just have to upsell the Queen next time you're doing a fitting," he says cheerfully and gives her an easy grin. "You're very charming and creative, I'm sure you'll think of something." Hudson's not above flirting to underscore the point. "Anyway," he continues, "it was nice meeting, Iintahquohae. Inks, yeah? Cute name." She'd never told him it, though. He nurses a private smile as he drifts toward Milo. "Let's go buddy," he tells the other guy, who is already scaling the steps. "See you soon, lady smuggler," says Hudson, before he follows.
Iintahquohae nods. “We can't put folk who may be aware of what such a gift can do in a compromising position if it is found out,” she murmurs. Well, this would prove interesting to mull over. His flirtation is met with a raised eyebrow. In her eyes, she's far from charming, let alone attractive enough to capture anybody's attention. Especially married men. “Likewise, Hudson,” she knew his name as well, thanks to the papers and whispers. “Tell your wife that your charming and creative friend said hello, yeah?”