RP:Deal for Glass Crabs

Pebbly Shore, Cenril

Characters: Ranok and Sargaso Summary: Ranok hires Sargaso to hunt giant glass man-sized crabs.

Ranok was a hard figure to miss, even in the waning light of the setting sun. Golden colors cut across the stones of the shore, mixing with the bubbling of the waters as they rushed the shore only to retreat at the last second. The full frame of him was in profile, all worn leathers and tired flesh. But strong steel was beneath, make no mistakes. As the sun was sinking under the city, the cherry glow of his cigarette was washed out in golden glows, but the drifting cloud was the key identifier there. Normally, he summoned others, and not the other way around. But he was in the city anyways, so two birds with a single bolt it'd be. Still, perhaps it set a bad precedent. These things and others were mulled as he waited.

Sargaso comes from the sea aboard a sealskin kayak. The brindle hide glides soundlessly on the sunset-goldened tide. His oar breaks the water here and there to maneuver the kayak onto the perfect bed of dry pebble and sand. He hops off the vessel, and, barefoot, carries it towards his hut upon a shoulder. He stops a stranger’s distance away from the figure near his cheap, wooden home. The man, in contrast to Ranok, is swaddled in worn cotton and tanned flesh. Youthful, strong, but relaxed. His shoulders, unchipped. Ranok is in luck, because Sargaso does not establish pecking order according to who came to whom. Although he’s never met Ranok, he recognizes him instantly by the peculiar timberwolf ears. Sargaso does not make a habit of answering beer-soaked solicitations on tavern boards. In the pubs he frequents, the ratio of wackos to straight shooters is alarmingly high. But money has been tight and necessity forced him to roll the die against those odds--albeit, an informed roll. He asked around. He turned up little information about Ranok, but the timberwolf ears shook loose from the grapevine. No word yet on whether or not he’s a wacko. The ears don’t bode well on that front, but hey, money. It’s tight. “Hey. You Ranok?” he calls from the cautious distance.

Ranok gives Sargaso's arrival what could be a semi interested eye. The smith wasn't all that well versed in the nuances of seafaring. He was raised where there was almost no water, so he rather missed out on the advantage of being raised on sea fumes and storms. Even so, he learned quick enough for his own satisfaction. Gray eyes cast onto the man before him. Now, the smith might not have known boats, but he did know men. The sorts that earned their keeps, where they were comfortable. It took a master class conman to truly look like he belonged in an element, when someone bothered to look. Which is why most of them relied on the fact that few ever did. But Sargaso seemed to be legitmate enough, as he earns himself a reply, rumbled out over the sound of the waves, "I am indeed. I'll presume you're the man that responded to the posting." The cigarette, tucked in familiar fashion between fingers that gleamed a dull black, is placed between lips. A draw, then exhale, smoke wafting. To catch the scent would reveal whatever it was to be burning in that paper wasn't tobacco.

Sargaso nods at Ranok’s presumption. “Sargaso, yep. Mates call me Sarge.” He hefts the kayak off his shoulder and places it on the ground. As he talks he fishes a pair of moccasins out of the kayak hull and puts them on by balancing on one foot, then the other. He has no airs to put on. No conman here, infrequently does he spin yarns, save those related to fish and women. This big, I tell you, that fish, those jugs. “What’s the job?” He glances north and south along the shore--quick or sharp movements--then asks Ranok wordlessly, through a glance equal parts conspiratorial and inquisitive: is it ok to talk here?

Ranok takes one last drawl of the cigarette, then drops it to the ground to grind it underneath a boot. "Straightforward." He approved, though he didn't say as much. Sarg's unspoken question is answered without preamble, as well, "There's a species of deep water crab that comes up in the spring. Real deep. Only turns up in the spring. No idea why. Might be laying eggs, or the currents go back in their normal grounds. They like these beds of corals that have some medicinal properties. Only problem is that the coral is like the fire coral. Burns if you touch it too much. Oh, and the crabs get big. Real big." Hands pat a pocket to bring out small clamshell container that had more rolled cigarettes in them. One is selected and pulled out, "Heard that most adults are as big as a man and can get up to my size. But, you know fishermen and their stories." A slight smile might have accompanied that statement, but with the lines of the smith's face, it was hard to tell. "Anyways. The crab's shell is completely translucent. See right through them, save for some innards. Really tough, too. Stronger than glass, which makes sense. Something that deep and that big and mean. Hardly anyone bothers with them, though, because as big as they get, it's a real pain the ass to use the shells. They're curved, so they don't fit in as windows, and you cut 'em small, then you have so little. Anyways. I need me a couple of those giant crabs. Don't care about the meat, but I need the shells. Many as you can get. Grab some coral if you want some coin on the side, but I'll need the shells."

Sargaso knows exactly the crab Ranok describes, and also knows exactly why they’re most easily found in Spring, but no one likes a know-it-all. He doesn’t share with the class. Ranok also doesn’t share with the class, although Sargaso appreciates the strain of non-tobacco he smokes. They’re too unfamiliar, these men, for Sarge to ask for a ‘cig’, so he stays quiet on that front. “Shells.” He lets out a low whistle. “Tall order for brittle shells. And the meat on that crab isn’t worth the trouble. Too sweet. What’s the word? Makes you gag?” His eyes search the stars for the word but it doesn’t come. “Anyway, so if I’m hearing you correctly, then--repugnant. That’s the word. Repugnant.” He inhales sharply when Ranok exhales that smoke. He needs a smoke. He’s too broke to buy his own, so he thinks of Hudson who always has a stash. His night’s itinerary materializes. Next stop: Huds. “The pay then is whatever fire coral I can carry? Low pay for a high risk. If I wanted to sell fire coral, I could just go hunting for fire coral, get what I’m saying?” He wipes a hand over his mouth as he considers his options. “Those crabs are lethal. I can count on one hand the guys I know who say they’ve taken one down. And like you said, fisherman.” He stresses the word, smiles faintly, his opinion on his own kind coinciding with Ranok’s.

Ranok wasn't about to offer one, anyways. Sargaso likely wouldn't like the brand. Left index finger is brought up to the tip and a powerful flame spurts, strong enough to defy any wind. Sometimes an artificial hand was rather handy. "Not so brittle if you treat it right. Less expensive then never break glass. Pretty tough in its own right. Most just don't see the potential. Then again, most don't see as I do. I pay per shell. Thousand per. I think that'll make it worth your while. Plus whoever you want to take along with. I suggest you do." A drag is taken on the smoke and it begins to disappear. A moment to hold the smoke, and then he releases in twin billows, "Not a secret job. Just some giant enmity crabs." Another ghost of a smile, then it disappears, "The flesh is yours to keep or toss. If you want to less the ship load you can shuck them. But you keep the shells immersed in water. Fresh water. It stays too long out of it untreated, ruins the shells. Simple enough, no? So are you on board?"

Sargaso had assumed there would be some sort of crew. Apparently he’s the captain, it’s a crew of two, and he picks who. If this surprises him (it does), he doesn’t show it. Perhaps his paused, blank expression is clue enough to his feelings on the arrangement. Just to be clear he reiterates, “1,000 for me, and a 1,000 for my mate, per shell. You’re shelling out 2,000 per shell.” The pun hits him belatedly and he snorts appreciatively as his accidental witticism, half his mouth twisting into a grin. “At that price, I’m in.”

Ranok snorts, "At that price, you'd best be losing some hands. But fine. Best do it quickly, though. The board posting *was* an open one, do remember. I believe that finishes things here."

Sargaso smirks at Ranok’s grizzly acceptance of the price. He offers his hand for a shake to seal the deal, the same hand he hopes not to lose on this crazy hunt. “I’ll be in touch when I have something.”

Ranok reaches out to engulf Sargaso's hand in his own. The grip was powerful, but he was kind enough not to engage a test of strength contest. It wouldn't have been fair after all. Releasing, he merely responds, "Do so." The crunch of stone under heel and the man turns, walking away into the city.