RP:Rumble on the Cenrili Dock
Part of the Tales from the Row Arc
Synopsis: Finn discovers from Mahri that Terra was on the ferry that sank, and heads to the harbor for news of survivors. He runs into Grot at the port and a fight eventually ensues.
Characters: Finn, Mahri, Grot.
Location: Cenril; The Gates of Cenril, The Harbor.
At the Gates to Cenril..
Mahri is heading back to Cenril. More to the point, the ferry that'll take her back to Rynvale. After all, she has a particular person to find and have a good long chat with. Glancing upwards at the dragons circling overhead, the lycan lets out a sigh and sends a mental nudge to Sora. Just one of those things to let the dragon know she was missed.
Finn was on foot, and moving with slightly more than usual focus and purpose through the foot traffic headed into Cenril. He’d not expected to be heading back this way. The plan had been to move on to Larket and the sky dock there and finish his run to Vhys. Rekkur was stabled there to bring him down the mountain to the city again. The report brought to him at the Den had changed all that. A ferry taken out..no known survivors.. and Terra had been scheduled to travel. A frown furrowed his brow. Unlikely..and yet..
Mahri 's attention is taken away from the dragons above to find her quary. Gritting her teeth, t he lycan picks up her pace and, dodging other travelers, eventually gets close enough to reach out and grab the Runner by his arm, "Hey, Just the person I was looking for." Her tone is hard, cold and probably not at all friendly. "I have a few questions for ya. Lets get a drink."
Finn reacted instinctually when that hand flew out to make a grab, spinning on his heel and twisting limb to grab at the wrist of the possible mugger or assailant. Whisky gaze flew to meet silvery irises. “The hell Mahri.. good way to get dead darlin’..” Gaze skittered over her. “Would love to drink with you Rider..but I’m needin’ to get to the docks. Can walk an’ talk if it’s important.” He was already trying to move forward against her restraint.
Mahri 's wrist is caught, not that she much cares, "Where's Terra and why did she make a sudden exit from Rynvale? What. Did. You. Do." Each of those last four words are bitten out sharply as she follows. Oh, and the comment about her getting dead is, quite frankly, the least of her worries.
Finn’s eyes shadowed, just before they snapped to life in his own anger, and the fingers around her wrist tightened fractionally before he released her as if limb was a hot brand. “Should be in Gualon..if she went where she said she was headed. Needed her connections to complete a run there,” he said in lowered tone. “The hell makes you think -I- did anythin’ wolf? Why can’t it be her choice to walk the hell away?” eyes narrowed slightly. “You saw her? When did she leave? Which ferry was she on? Anybody with her?..”
Mahri is almost taken aback by the sudden barage of questions but, she'll start from the beginning, "First, she wasn't exactly herself when I saw her yesterday. I can only assume you had something to do with it since she seemed damned happy when you were around." She absolutely refused to believe that Terra would have walked away from Red. Hell, she wouldn't have. "SHe left yesterday and I didn't see who with or which ferry. Now, tell me what the hell is going on. I saw the news about a ship going down and I haven't heard from her at all. She isn't in Gualon."
Mahri’s words cut into him like a knife. Yesterday. Yesterday. There was more than one ferry running the route- every hour on the hour, he’d received word after sunset. Broad, calloused hands lifted and settled on the lycan’s shoulders, and she was pinned with a look that was borderline anger and..something else, that might chill Mahri’s blood. “It can wait Mah..I promise we’ll talk..but I need you to remember darlin’.. when did you see her? Was she headed out in the day, or the evnin’ boat?” His grip..would be almost painful. She wasn’t in Gualon..and he had to way to know if she was still on the island.
Mahri blinks and stares into those amber eyes. "I can't remember, Finn. But she didn't make it to Gualon. I checked because I promised I'd come see her." Gently shrugging out of the man's grip, Mahri tilts her head, "She was on the boat that went down." IT wasn't a question but a deducement of facts. "Find her Red, or I swear to the Gods you'll be looking over your shoulder more than you do now." If she ever got her dagger out of a sharkskull.
Finn didn’t answer her. The eyes locked on her emptied of life, before a blink revealed pupils that dilated before contracting as his hands fell away. A nod, only, and he was gone, weaving through the crowd with single minded purpose. It’d been twenty four hours. God damned twenty four hours. Where the hell would she be, if she had indeed been on that ferry? He had not the first clue of the status of survivors..or how bad the incident had been. But if she wasn’t in port..if she wasn’t in Cenril.. If she hadn’t traveled back to the island. It was not a thought he was prepared to indulge. She had to be there. A flash of red disappearing through the gates would be the last she saw of him.
Mahri let out a sigh, something between resignation and regret, while she watched Red disappear on the way to Cenril. She didn't pursue him. What would be the point? Hell, if she had to, she'd sail the damned Illoria on her own to find her friend.
At the Cenril Harbor..
Finn had made it to the dockside in record time, given the hour of the night and the dangers Cenril now posed. Perhaps because of the aura that emanated from the man, one that seemed to increase the closer he got to the harbor and became aware of evidence of the aftermath of the ferry accident. Civilians walking with haunted eyes, cut, bandaged, laying in makeshift medical pallets at the side of the road. No such thing as formal medical care now in the lawless port town. Finn shoved his way onto the dock where ferry stood at anchor..and empty. Travel was restricted it seemed, though the low thrum of an incoming engine indicated the arrival on one of the few that were. Somebody had to be in charge..god dammit. Somebody would know where to find any who had made it out alive. “Gods..sparrow..you’re killin’ me darlin’.. Where are you?” it was the ghost of a murmur under his breath.
Grot was on that damned ferry. Pulling into port. Armed to the feckin' teeth, which is a bit more unusual. Daggers on either waist, the large cleaver strapped on back - more small blades strapped around his body. Ready for a damned war, Razor was, looked like. Atop horse, reigns held with utter determination to get to shore. Couldn't feckin' swim. It was getting dark, and cold, and there were sick folk at the damn harbor like usual. Feckin' least he had the registry. She'd been on it. Her and the Blonde bitch, feckin' hell. Had someone read it to him and everything, the now-wrinkled parchment held tightly in reigns - shoulders were tense, tenser than hell, but damn if he didn't feel like he was home. A sick home, but still, fecking home. Ferry met with port, rigging tied, didn't even notice the injured - didn't really know what to do, only to get off here before he feckin' drowned.
Finn’s eyes lifted to the docking ferry, sweeping across the amassed bodies that began to straggle off of the overcrowded vessel. That any would even use the transport given the recent incident would be mind boggling, were it not for the simple fact that there were no other easily accessed routes to the island, and many Cenrili’s depended on the jobs available in the more orderly Rynvale for the coppers that enabled survival. The Razor was hard to miss..a beast of a man on a beast of a horse. It made the runner miss the strength and companionship of his own mount, stabled in Vhys awaiting an arrival that would not happen any time soon. He’d have to send someone to fetch him down. Eyes narrowed slightly. Kingsley was not a man to let activity on his turf go without note, the runner was betting he’d have something…anything. The red head shoved his way through the crowd pressing toward the mounted male, stopping just outside the distance that would have hand him angling look up in far too subservient a manner. Gold flecked gaze met brown. “Helluva city you got goin’ here Bandit..” he all but growled in greeting. “Tell me you’re good for knowin’ more than where a good haul can be snagged. Need to know the hell happened here..and where I can find word of survivors.”
Grot eyed the bastard. Sternly. Uncomfortably, unknowingly fidgetting with the dagger at his waist like a woman would frills of her dress. Tension, ripe. Yeah, he feckin' knew. "Had to find the registry. Number for this ferry. Yeah. Matches the one Hanan said she was taking out. Sawr'tah other night." Came out blunt, cold. Far from distant, edge-wise with embers, smoke waiting to turn into flame. Aids got a curt kick in the side, which had the massive beast trotting timidly down a steel ramp that threatened to buckle under weight. Kingsley didn't care. Was too busy staring down Finn, "Here." even went so far as to offer up the parchment clutched in hand, had whoever had read it circle the names with a bit of charcoal - "Obviously they ain't here. They ain't in Rynvale. They're dead." Blonde bitch and Hanan. No wonder, the cold in his tone. Close to shattering a voiding pane of glass.
The eyes that were fixed on the bandit’s went dead. Cold in turn, so that air between the males were it not frigid with winter’s blast might have chilled anyways. The runner did not move from his place, nor was the deathly air of stillness around him broken it seemed, even by a breath, until the low husky drawl filtered across the space between them. “Like. Feckin’. Hell. They are. Show me a god dam body, and watch your feckin’ mouth when you’re talkin’ about my bird.” There was no ‘or else..’ Finn didn’t do ‘or else.’ By the time the moments would have passed it took to make the threat, he’d already have made the personal acquaintance of whoever would be unlucky enough to be on the end of the discussion-in the most unpleasant of manners- if a fight was what he hankered after. Right now, he could give a flying fuck about the man astride in front of him. “You don’t fukin’ know those two mate. If they’re dead I’ll eat my arse.” Cool. Play it cool. They weren’t dead..She, wasn’t dead. Not when his last words to her had been what they were. “Find me a god dam survivor, now. I need an eye witness..”
Grot squinted a god damn eye, eager to expell the feckin' anger the teetered the edge of the void - "Yeh feckin' order me around, I'll be tah'one survivin'tah god damn knife in yer feckin' chest you lil'Merchant feck." Adon took a few side steps, skittering at a breeze. Fecking hell, too cold man, "Yerafeckin' fool man, use yer damn head! Yeh want survivors, yeh feckin' find'm yerself, dey is dead, or good as, dese feckin'waters ain't got no feckin'mercy!" Voice was steadily rising, thumb sliding around weapon unconciously. Index finger lingered, ominous, "Yera-feckin'fool, yer /blonde bitch/ is dead." Accentuated her god damn name. let that serve the fecking bastard - "And so is my Hanan, feckin'hell man. Sea dogs returning to tah'feckin'sea! Lookit fool! Lookit! Dey was on it!" Parchment was shoved at Finn's chest, "Ain't no survivors been found! Ain't no one lived! Yer blinde with feckin'fear....pathetic...." Rage. "Bastard!" This was Red's fault. Red was centered in Rynvale. Red had them going to Gualon. It was Red's cargo he'd pulled, stashed away on Selen Island - "Yer lucky ~" Adon was starting to side-step, tightly held reigns sending unwanted commands, "Yer-lucky I dun cut yeh down where yeh stand! Fer'killin'em! Yeh killed'm!"
Finn liked horses. Finn knew horses. That was the only reason the runner chose the option of action that would likely cause less injury and startling of the great beast. The spike of blind, red rage that swelled in the smuggler was channeled into movement that took advantage of the bandit’s mistake. Grot was stride his mount-an advantage if he stayed centered in the saddle, weight of gravity low- not so much if his bulky frame had tipped forward to shove those pieces of parchment into Red’s chest. Precisely positioned for the runner to whip out his own hands in a double fisted grab, one broad palm wrapped around Grot’s fist, and the other grabbed his wrist, snapping it inwards with brute force. while the elbow of wrist grabbing hand slammed like a chisel into the inner elbow of the leaning bandit. Weight was applied and the twisting of a powerful torso, as Finn sought to haul the man off his horse and force him to the ground. If he was successful in unseating him, Finn would shift his own frame over the man’s to follow it to the ground, leading with his elbow, an air sucking blow to the bandit’s bread basket. “Should fukin’ kill you for that..bastard.” Terra..gods…Terra.
Grot did this grunt noise, sort of thing, at the start. A very brut, very rough 'ennnnghhhhh!' whilst being pulled down from saddle to the dirt below. S'not like he couldn't just....lay there, 'cept, the agile bugger had knocked all the damn wind out of him. Had a lead on him, Finn had a damn angle, couldn't get his hand - feckin - feckin...Thar! Hold on wrist broke, which sent the Razor's knuckles slamming into the sodden path below, scraping bits of skin - he was still coughing for air mind, but the back hand came right on the heel's of Finn's own words. Consider this, as signature of force: Grot was just over six and a half feet tall. Had been fighting for years, a lifetime in all actuality. Had enough god damn anger to supplement a bi-curious hybrid elven-lycan with multiple personalities at the moment. Would the back of Kingsley's hand be enough to send the man flying? Didn't matter, coughing fits took'm just after, hit or no, tryin' to roll on his side one way or another. "Ye-------------" Nawr, couldn't talk, only cough, grab his gut.
The one disadvantage to landing on top of somebody was..well..being on them. Made a man one hell of a big target if opponent wasn’t incapacitated on the first strike. Grot wasn’t. There was no warning when the back hand contact came-and Finn didn’t expect any. Blood for blood, it was the way of the rows. Head snapped back with the imact, the sickening crunch of bone on bone resonating in the rapidly clearing space on the docks around them. Lip split, and the metallic taint of blood on his tongue and the dulling of his senses as brain knocked around in his skull was enough to urge the rolling of the runner off the current object of his ire. The back of a cloaked hand was dragged across blood stained mouth, and he breathed a defiant promise. “Told you.they ain’t dead..” the veneer of civilization..the mask worn to become acceptable to the very rich grot despised was slipping away with each passing minute..revealing the man underneath who had clawed his way to the top in their world. A wink of metal in the moonlight, brass knuckles slipped over fingers. “Now are you goin’ to help me find em..or do I get to make my apologies to the cat for deliverin’ up the god dam fukin’ Razor the gods because he wouldn’t get the hell outa my way. I’m goin’ to find Terra..”
Grot didn't just feckin' let a man sucker punch him, then walk away unscatched. Pride had been scratched. A bit. Kingsley fancied himself quite the brawler, after all. Intelligent too, see? See how that goes? Fluffy brain. Finn popped that damn bubble with an elbow to the gut. Razor still skeetered fingers, raked through mud, clambering to his feet at last to meet Red's back - hear his god damn feckin' words stinging. Didn't exactly have a gorram reason NOT to kill him. Hanan was dead. The blonde bitch was rotting face-down on some beach by now, he'd guess, bubble butt getting more bloated by the moment. Decomposition was quite tah'bitch. Regardless, steel-toed boots met firmly against muddy cobblestones, slippery from recent rain - biting cold too. Screamed it, truly, while he ran at him. Ran at him fast too, sweating like hell, panting for breath: "THEY ARE DEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAD!!" As the word 'are' left his mouth amongst the rage, that was when he met with the man - with the Merchant prick - and wrapped his arms around him. On the outside of arms, a bear-hug from behind - Grot wasn't gay - meant to return the favor of air squeezed from lungs, blood or no. Lasted but a moment though, squeezed as hard as he could - really, he did, a burst of strength - then tried, at the very least, to shove Red off the dock, into the icy Cenrilian waters mere feet away.
Finn had not actually turned away from his opponent, what with having slipped that extra layer of brute force on over his knuckles in preparation for a second foray. Only a fool after all, would turn his back on a foe mid brawl. As it was then, Grot’s blind and enraged charge was head on into a foe who was poised and balanced to face it. Open arms leave ribs and lungs vulnerable and for an instant Red was tempted to greet the bastard with what he deserved, the taste of cold steel between the fourth and fifth. But something..someone gave him pause. ‘Don’t kill him..’ he could hear the Hellcat’s earnest plea yet in his mind..and because, dammit..she was alive..he’d rather not have to explain’ killing the brute. Dam he was a beast of a man. Body slammed into body, and as that instant of crushing pressure came down around his frame as he staggered before Grot’s weight, the runner’s head reared back, and the rugged brow slammed forward and down, into the proud arc of the bandit’s nose bridge. Enough, hopefully, to break it, making sight and breathing a challenge and hopefully inducing enough pain that a reflexive release of Red’s body would occur. If the bandit allowed enough space between them, brass knuckled fist would corkscrew through the air toward cheekbone and eye socket, his intent to shatter Grot’s face in twain. There were no words. The bastard didn’t deserve them.
Grot dropped. Straight dropped. To the god damn ground. A limp sack of flesh. A bloody one. Broken bones? Maybe, you know, maybe. Possibly. Likely. It wasn't that he didn't know what he was doing, it was more so, Red knew what the feck HE was doing. Kingsley was too pissed to stand a chance.
Had this been some other time, and some other place, instinct would have demanded of the runner that he end this..finish the man who would likely come back to be a pain in his ass later. But this was now, and he was the Cat’s..interest..and Terra had been on the water for two days. Because dammit..she was alive. Kae. He needed a ship..they’d have to go trawling the waters for lifeboats..anything that the girls might have found to give themselves a fighting chance. A cold, gold glare skipped over the unconscious male. “I’ll give the cat your regards..” he clipped, and without another word the male turned, not bothering to hide the wince of sore ribs and wove his way through the dispersed crowd to the gangway of the ferry as it loaded up for return journey. “Hold on darlin’.” He murmured, and then he was lost to the crowd.