RP:Double The Trouble
Part of the Tales from the Row Arc
Synopsis: A tense second encounter between the lycan pirate Leoxander, and Faramond, results in the forging of a reluctant alliance between the two Rynvalian rogues to intervene in the anarchy rife in Cenril in an attempt at securing power unto themselves.
Characters: Leoxander, Faramond
Location: Rynvale; The Broken Barrel Inn
Leoxander fell in, more than he walked. Bare foot and filthy, bruised and still touched in blood that was both his own and a collection from the unfortunate souls he crossed paths with the night before. The door hit the wall and Simon wore a grim look at the Captain's state - he hadn't taken much time or advantage of the farm offerings. "You..." Now he appeared far more hung over than drunk, but pissed off rather than just irritated. His shoulder bumped against the doorframe he pushed off of, steps taken into the pub to cross in a direct path toward Faramond, whever he was.
Faramond turned in his stool, his back to the countertop of the bar, a hand cradling a smoking cigarette as his eyes watched the captain stumble his way, almost mockingly calling back, "Me."
Leoxander suddenly occupied 'Faramond' space. Right in his nose after rudely knocking the man's smoke right from his hand. A grimy hand touched in dried blood and dirt attempted to curl into a shirt collar to kind of rise the man up in his seat, not out of it. "I'm giving you five g'damn seconds to tell me why I shouldn't put your shriveled innards on the walls of this bloody place in display." Teeth that were pointed and longer than should be at the corners of his mouth were bared like a wolf's.
Faramond could not fight the uncanny feeling that he had seen this mouth before, yet like the first time, his chest found itself pushing back, his feet coming up as he stood out of his seat, “Because you know you would have hit me if I hadn’t tied you up, you know I didn’t have to spare you. I had no intention of killing you, why the hell would I have fed you, why would I offer to continue feeding you? That, and you’re hurt and I fight dirty, I got no problems with taking something I want.” As the Pirate captain probably knew a bit better. Still, Faramond’s foot crushed the cigarette that Leoxander knocked out of his hand, his nostrils flaring a bit, “That was hand rolled, bastard.” He associated himself with Leoxander in that phrase, even if the mariner didn’t know it, “So, you are going to kindly take the money I gave you, and buy me a drink.”
Leoxander was just too confused to hit him, and render him incoherent. None of this made any damned sense, and why did he feel like he knew those strangely green eyes? A chuff of his really bad breath was pushed through his teeth in answer to what he was 'going to do', no regard paid for Faramond's lost cigarette. The question came back through the elfish male's words, "Why -are- you doing this? Who the hell are you?" Redundant questions, perhaps, but they came with his frustration. He didn't look like he'd trusted the stranger's meal, yet. He would, however, drop his hold of Faramond if it was not already escaped from. A sidelong, suspicious look went back to the man before he turned and expected Simon to pass him a drink. Because that's what he looked like he needed... -more- alcohol.
Faramond brushed his shirt straight, “Because I know what I want…” And Leoxander still knew, he wasn’t getting a name till Faramond did, but he was watching the stranger, narrowing his gaze slowly, “Trust, sailor. I’m not cocky enough to do everything myself, no, for what I need you to do, you are going to have to be tougher.” Faramond’s hand took the drink Simon slid to Leoxander, not taking his eyes off the lycan, “A water, Simon.” It a simple order to the bartender, “And, before you complain, if you can’t trust someone who tells you openly they are leaving you out of the loop until he trusts you enough, who can you?”
Leoxander could only stare at the man for a long, incredulous moment as he intercepted the mug meant for his hands, and even Simon took a few steps back with a wary, wild look at Faramond before doing as requested by the patron. A blank, dumbfounded look granted to the pitcher and glass of ....water that the keep was preparing, and he couldn't even open his mouth to find a word to curse about it. No one had ever done this. No one. Had his reputation sunk so low that he'd be treated like some drunk lackey hired out of the streets? "Who said I'm for hire?" He finally demanded lowly, anger still a perpetual bass note in his tone. He'd supposedly 'retired' from business that he assumed this sort to be into. Rather than rage or throw what was left of his energy into bullying the crazy bastard into answers, he finally just took a seat, staring at the glass of water he was poured. This had to be some sick sort of joke. If only he didn't feel so wobbly and lost maybe he'd had dismissed this as a waste of time and gone to find his boots, but sitting felt... better. He was still pretty wrecked.
Faramond sipped Leoxander’s alcohol with very little problem, he knew how beat the man was and wasn’t afraid, nothing of him seemed afraid, “Who says I’m aiming to hire you? No, if I thought you were for sale, I wouldn’t start by buying you things. I’m more asking you to be a partner in crime.” That made it sound better, “You are desperate, I can see it in your eye, you need a reason to live… You fight with people...” Assumptions were to be made, “Because you want to see if you can bring yourself to fight them… survival instinct.” A shrug of his shoulder as he sipped Leoxander’s alcohol.
Leoxander bit back at Faramond rather rudely, "Stop bloody analyzing me!" At this point, it seemed as though Faramond could have given him the world and a basket of compliments and the rogue would still find a reason to show his fangs and grouch about it. Begrudgingly, he picked up that glass of water and more or less his curiosity to how the clear liquid tasted (as he'd pretty much forgotten) caused him to lift it for a long drink that cleaned the bottom. He set the glass down empty, swallowed back the bile that built up in his throat, and turned a glare through his overgrown hair toward the patient stranger. "You're the one that seems pretty desperate, tryin' to win me over with all this rubbish." Not that gold was rubbish, nor food, but again, pessimistic man, today. For a while he'd quiet down, pouring himself another glass of water and actually catching his breath to reveal just a brief glimpse of fatigue through mismatched eyes.
Faramond smirked a bit, his hand fetching in his pocket a moment, two cigarettes produced, one offered towards the man. If Leo accepted, it was passed, if not, it was pocketed before he put the other in his mouth, lighting it, “Win you over? Yes, water’s going to win you over.” Sarcasm, but one might notice he was being astute in his observations, “No, I’m leading you to your decision, as cocky as that sounds… You both know you are looking to punch something in the face, we both know you want to eat… I can’t give you that, but I can help you take it.” Smoke billowed from his mouth, making the tavern seem more hazy in the smoke, but Faramond was seeing clearer than ever, “I’ve never known a man to tell another that tying him up was trying to win him over… Maybe to a woman, but never another man.”
Leoxander flicked a glance at the smoke before a large calloused hand closed down on it, and he placed it between his lips. He didn't have his gnomish firestarter with him so whatever Faramond had used was rudely stolen from him before he barely had time to light his own. "You never know 'round these parts." He remarked lowly to those words through that cigarette he held in his mouth, taking a drag to ignite the end in a glow and assist with the poor quality of the tavern air. But the other might also see that Leo was finally starting to loosen up and relaxed in his battered state, a stiff twist bringing his ribs against the bar counter for half a lean. One thing he hadn't done this time around was deny any other words, about wanting to throw a punch, needing reason, craving a good meal and a will to eat it. For now he'd just smoke that cigarette and try to puzzle out the last two dreary days of his existence. "You gonna tell me what you want or we gonna shoot the barrel for a while?"
Faramond chuckled a bit, “I’ve told you what I want. Going to give me a name or a reason to tell you more?” A scratch on his head, information for information, fair trade.
Faramond tapped out his cigarette now, “Faramond… And what I want from you…. Leo, is Cenril… If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m greedy.” There was a cough given now, shaking his head, “Power, the ultimate high, right?”
Leoxander did not look or reply at all, at first. Not a laugh, not a shake of his head or a roll of his eyes. Cenril was a disgusting place that he'd never cared for, particularly in stocks or chains, but it was also a challenge. Something he'd not yet achieved, upset into total chaos. He actually took the time to taste the leaf in Faramond's mix in that next long drag he took, holding it in without thinking until it started to seep from his nose on a natural exhale. One last drag and he stubbed the rolled smoke in the tray Simon provided. "You'll owe me, and that's putting it light, mate." He finally said, lifting that glass of water to finish the second.
Faramond grinned at Leoxander, “Oh, don’t worry about it… You just eat… You look like a bag of bones.” An honest insult, no talking price yet, “We’ll see how you feel after we take the city, eh?” Faramond put his cigarette out much the same way as Leoxander, “We got a man to kill… Some thieves to unite, Leo, I have a feeling this may be the start of a beautiful relationship.” Or a profitable one.
Leoxander wasn't quite there at that point of being alive, yet, not did he look to have much of an appetite. A newfound resolve didn't erase the last three months of frustration. "Don't get too excited on me, man. And did anyone ever tell you you talk to much?" Rhetorical, really. He was sure someone had.
Faramond smirked a bit, “A man once told me I talked as much as his wife… So I shut his wife up the fun way.” An odd story but he looked away, “So what are you planning on doing now?” Leoxander looked away from Faramond, already starting to calculate things to be done, and the order of such in his head. Course, to do such things he would need shoes, and weapons, and perhaps something a little less vulnerable and conspicuous. Yet he gave Faramond a shrug and a simple answer. "Guess I should pack."
Faramond nodded at Leoxander, “And you should probably eat too… Tomorrow, we hunt. A man named Fedlark was apparently Razor’s second in command and I think we’ll have to get him on our side… One way… Or at least his men on our side.”
Leoxander pushed his wrecked hands against the counter to stand slowly, a deep breath taken for the effort. He still had a lingering concussion, wolf blooded or not, and that put a bit of a damper on his outlook for the evening. Not to mention there was an unpleasant barefoot walk to the villa to look forward to. "I gotta get my dog, too. You comin' or should I find you tomorrow?" Rough fingers back through disheveled, 'hangover' hair (which only caused it to stick and spike a bit worse), he skimmed his attention over the woman and turned to walk slowly out of an initial limp to an unhurried stride toward the door.
Faramond said to Leoxander, "I'll find you tomorrow."