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RP:The Endangered Kiwi Bird

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This is a Rogue's Guild RP.

Summary: As a follow-up to a vague invitation Eleanor gave Irenic at a recent party at the Jolly Roger, the two share cigarettes, rum, and words before they come to an agreement; the rendezvous concludes with Irenic joining the Rogue’s Guild under the code name Kiwi.

Abandoned Wharf

Eleanor stood in the shadow of the Jolly Roger to the north, looking out toward the abandoned pier as her shoulderblades rested against the warehouse’s front facade. Her shadow-laced cloak coiled around her, cowl pulled low over side-swept flaxen bangs, smoothed over her diadem to curtain it from curious eyes. It wasn’t hidden, per se, but its juxtaposition behind the pale waves and cast in shadow by the lip of her hood, it was clear she didn’t want to draw attention to the turquoise gem bound by the runed iron. The edges of her figure were blurred and distorted thanks to the shadows that swirled around her, but a single light was sparked into existence before her; a cigarette struck, its herbal smell permeating the wharf as the spell-rogue took a deep drag, coaxing a cherry into being before expelling the smell on a heavy sigh. El was exhausted, her features behind the guise of aloofness drawn with fatigue and stress, but her body language was evermore distant and nonchalant, one leg pulled up to press her heel against the warehouse’s exterior wall, and she crossed one arm over her chest, propping her opposing elbow against it as she took another drag. It had been a slow night, thankfully, with little activity in the JR, but that didn’t stop the woman’s mind from reeling over all the possibilities that now awaited her in Rynvale. On the wake of a third, leisurely drag of herb, the guild leader smiled to herself.

Irenic sighed as he sidled on up to where El was leaning and stressing about whatever. “Trouble in the waters?” His low gruff tone alerts his presence if his footsteps already haven't and he takes his own herbal cigarette from its tucked away place on his long pointed ear. “Got a light?” He leans against the wall on the empty space next to her and she might pick up on her favorite scent coming from him. He's keeping the questions pretty basic for now.

Eleanor edged a sidelong glance beneath heavy lashes toward the spiritual spy, a flaxen brow slowly rising. “Aye,” she replied; to the lattermost question, at least, digging around in the draped shadows of her cloak to pull out her box of matches before tossing it in Irenic’s direction with a wink. “Whit brings yer sleekit self slinkin' aroond these parts, loove?” the spell-rogue’s broguely tongue meted out, her full lips curling into a sly grin as she regarded the other in that same skewed perusal. It would take more than a few brief interludes of conversation to really draw out much more response from the nebulous leader, at least as far as ‘trouble’ and ‘water’ was concerned. In the meantime, she tossed out another question on the tail-end of the first, concluding with a sly, husky tone, “Hae ye come tae be a bird?”

Irenic lights his own cigarette and lets some quiet rest between them, “it's hard for me to be a bird, actually.” A smirk while he looks ahead at nothing in particular and takes a long drag of his smoke. “All this talk of, ‘birds’ and ‘us’?” A flick of ash on the ground, “I think I'd be a fool to not ask what it is you are asking exactly before diving on in. You know?” His one good eye, the silver one, side eye glances at her in his more complicated questioning.

Eleanor rolled her sculpted shoulders beneath the folds of her cloak, lips tempered into a smirk as she considered his questions. “Och aye,” she conceded, following the apparent agreement with a sparkling sea green gaze. After a few beats passed during which she enjoyed the herbal smoke filling her lungs, steady exhales pushing out plumes of skunky aromas that intermixed with brine and fish. “Ah dae ken,” the enigmatic rogue replied at length, angling her chin down to favor Irenic with a better view of her features. “An' Ah wooldnae ask ye tae dae anythin' Ah didne hink ye waur capable ay.” Regardless of what Irenic might feel about his winglessness, she saw potential in the grounded individual. Her smirk widened a few degrees, harboring continued slyness in the full rose-tinted tiers. “Puckle mates an' Ah hae a hin' gonnae, we coods use puckle extra een,” she gestured with two fingers toward her own celadon twins, then waved her fingers to add, “puckle extra hans.” Then took another deep drag of her cigarette, extending her arm out to ash it before offering up another morsel of information. “Thes wark isnae fur th' faint ay heart, loove,” she warned, “it's grottie an' messy but buck if it isnae rewardin'.” Concluding with a wink easily visible by Irenic’s good eye, the spell-rogue leveled her gaze out toward the harbor again. “If yoo're nae in, yoo're nae in - but if yoo're in, if yoo're a body ay us, weel …” Again, she shrugged, before tacking on, “Yoo'd be a body ay us.” And with it all the perks of being a part of their organization, a proper cog in the gears of the guild’s illicit activities and entitled to the same protection and benefits as any other individual pledging loyalty to the Rogue’s.

Irenic listened, but for the second time wasn't about to make fun of her accent. “Faint of heart, funny. Some females refer to me as heartless… Joking aside, I've lived nearly a hundred and fifty years now. Let it be evident in the crow's feet and greying hair that it hasn't been an easy hundred fifty.” Avians live as long as dragons and definitely do not age as fast as it appears Irenic has. Maybe one day he would divulge some of the backstory to the tattoo markings. “If I join up in your activities, may I make one request… And may my request only remain between you and I?” He was very secretive about this, maybe it was protection or maybe it was out of fear of showing a weakness.

Eleanor listened attentively to what Irenic said, her chin lowering in an inscrutable sidestare. Once he'd finished speaking, she pushed herself away from the warehouse exterior, straightening as she regarded the much-taller male with a quirked brow, a husky chortle falling from her smirk-twisted lips. "Aam almost offended ye shoods e'en feel th' need tae specify, loove," the guild leader replied coolly. "If anyain can keep a secrit, it's me." That being said, although they appeared alone on the wharf, she turned toward the JR's doors, slipping past the threshold with nary a flap of fabric to announce her movements. As she passed the wingless man, she gave him a pointed look, inviting him into the warehouse with her sly green gaze.

The Jolly Roger

Irenic slipped in the JR after propping the door open from behind her and once it was evident they were alone, “I do a lot of work for the orphanage in Gualon. Either your crew continues to leave the orphanage alone or we protect them.” He was uncomfortable and he had one tell, his tawny tattooed hand smooths the dusky hair back atop his head. Leaving his cigarette to dangle in scarred lips he shoves his hands into the pocket of his slacks as he eventually looked back at the cloaked woman, “if that's acceptable. I'm in. What do you need of me?”

Eleanor wasted no time in crossing to the bar once inside the rehabilitated establishment, her hands curling around a bottle of rum pilfered from behind it. “Whit kin' ay bodie dae ye hink Ah am 'at eh'd make a targit ay a feckin' orphanage?” she said at last, leveling a glassgreen stare at her companion that gave no hint of her own opinion or activities regarding the orphanage in Cenril. Considering his words nevertheless, she tipped the bottle back and forth between her palms as she leaned against the bar, her cigarette nearing the end of its life in the faintest trail of smoke still wafting from its embered end. “Whit Ah need frae ye, is a nam. somethin' tae caa ye by 'at isnae th' a body yer maw dearest bestowed upon yer silvery croon.” A code name, as it were; something to keep Irenic separated from the goings-on of their criminal activity. That being said, she set about opening up the bottle of rum, tilting it back for a swig and a grimace, before pushing it across the bar to seal their agreement with a drink. “An' Ah need tae ken everythin' Ah can abit th' Fire ay Flies,” she added, tone dropping a bit as she mentioned their current mission. “Hoo mony cannons she has, hoo mony oan board ... anythin' tae help us tak' those weapons when we gang.” El wasn’t planning on sticking around this eve, though; hunger was setting in post-smoke, and already she was departing the backside of the bar, lingering at Irenic’s side before she’d go. “Ur we guid?”

Irenic shrugged, “hey I don't know, I just do everything I can to keep those kids from harm. It's not something I tell people freely. So, discretion?” He took the bottle she offered while thinking on it and wiping the mouth of the bottle, for he's a bit of a germaphobe at times. I mean if she needs to swap spit to seal the deal then there are better ways. “A code name,” he swigs the drink a bit deeply, without the grimace as she did - he's been drinking a lot lately. “You need a bird name,” he put together quickly, but that wasn't hard, “something flightless probably? Ostrich? Eh…” he shrugs, “maybe it should be a misnomer. Something cute and small - opposite of me.” He takes another deep swig, “what's that bird? The one that looks like they don't even have wings… A fruit name… Kale, no Kiwi. Thoughts?” He offers the bottle back after wiping his mouth germs off it.

Eleanor loitered near Irenic, gaze subtly narrowed in curiosity as she listened to his reasoning; not that the reason had, in fact, mattered to her - he was one of them now, that’s all that really mattered. “I'll keep yer secrit,” she spoke although it went without saying. Then “... kiwi?” The wry smirk that usually held her sun-brushed features captive now faded in favor of a slightly bemused simper. “Doesnae hae tae be a bird, loove, but Ah hink it suits ye.” She didn’t readily offer up her own nom de guerre, however, leaving it to mystery or a story for another time, reaching forward to take the rum back. “Guid,” she eventually decided, nodding. “Guess Ah'll be seein' ye aroond suin.” One last swig of rum was taken - the grimace again, though it had much more to do with taste than strength; whiskey was her drink of choice, but the rum was more readily available thanks to Leo. In the meantime, she passed the rum back, after the slightest brushing of the inner part of her wrist against the mouth of the bottle, lips edging sidelong into a crooked smirk. “Tak' caur noo.” Cueing her departure, she secured the cowl of her shadow-laced cloak low over her features, tucking back any stray strands of wheat-hued waves that dared escape the hood before parting with a wink and ducking out into the night.

Irenic watched her with that seeing chilling silver eye and how she was sort of learning his habits already. A smirk returning as he takes the rum back, “cheers then. Take care,” a long pause rests between them and again his hand smooths his hair back on the top, “thanks.” He isn't very good at the niceties and he would hang back a while after her departure until he wonders off as well.