RP:The Runner meets the Crow

Part of the Tales from the Row Arc

Part of the Birds of A Feather Arc

Summary: The smuggler and the corsair meet to arrange as a mutually profitable arrangement regarding the sale and running of goods between Rynvale and Cenril, and further inland.

Characters: Finn, Eliah, Lita, Alaine

Location; Cenril. Home of the Carrion, Whaler’s Bar.

Eliah moves through his home to steal a seat in the large armchair residing comfortably in the den just shy of the entry-way. He faces the door, and in turn the caddy-cornered flickering of the fireplace before him. The Carrion Crow lounges, surrounded with members of his crew who mill about, acting as his rather inconspicuous guard patrol.

Lita didn't usually make house calls. But she didn't see another way to get any face time with the Crow than showing up a tad unannounced. The only other option had been to relay a message through a confidant but the meeting she was set to arrange seemed to call for a more delicate touch. So barefoot she had wandered Cenril, waiting for darkness to fall before she'd make her way up the walk of the Crow's house. There were voices inside, setting her already on edge. She pulled up the hood of her cloak, shielding her face from curious eyes, and rose a hand to knock twice at the closed door before her.

Eliah couldn't help the inviting tone of his voice, speaking towards the knocked upon door. " Enter if you wish." It's casual, and enough of an invitation for the corsair to give, his crew members moving lazily to depart and leave him to deal with whomever had decided to meet with the forsaken elf , or more politically Cenril Governess Sadie's chief advisor. He takes a dignified sip of the wine in his glass, and manages to close the book he'd been surveying if with a lackluster azure stare.

Lita stepped lightly through the door, her right hand- albeit hidden- falling idly to the little dagger she kept at her right thigh. Nearly always to yield with caution when meeting a new contact, she took quick stock of the room once inside, the door closing heavily behind her. As always, she ushered with her the smells of salt water and sand, and she smiled ruefully. "So the Crow doth speak." Her voice was light and playful, unoffensive and yet inviting a sort of challenge all the same. "Interesting." she mused. She stepped towards him slowly, testing new waters, and only when guards did not suddenly surround her in defense of the advisor did she reachs up with pale, slender fingers to push back the hood of her cloak. Raven locks fell in sloppy curls about her shoulders to the small of her back and she watched him for a moment, obsidian eyes both reflective and curious. She held her head high and her shoulders square. "I've brought a message from the runner if you're keen to listen." she chided softly.

Eliah doesn't stir too much at her jest, there is the casual smile offered after only seeing that a woman happens to be his visitor and yet the corsair is all to content to remain in his seat, one hand upon a wine-glass, the other tapping idley at the basket-hilt of a rapier which leans upon his armrest. His long hair drawn into a tidy and neat pony-tail and his demeanor is almost diplomatic, at least until she makes to mention the runner. He had been awaiting the return of the other woman, but he could make due with this new arrival if nothing else. " Indeed, I have been awaiting such a visit. It's odd, I don't recall giving the title of 'crow' to anyone, nor declaring it. I must say apparently you've done your homework and I've been slacking off a bit." There is just the edge of a play-boyish charm in his voice and it is matched easily by the shifting of the commander whom takes a much more leisurely position, practically draped in his chair. To any unaware onlooker it would seem his guard s down, yet the bottomless blue of his eyes and his languid appearance are just that an act; the raven and crow etched blade remaining in his grasp where the glass of wine has found a place upon the nightstand nearby.

Lita was quiet as she listened carefully. A wicked little smile pulled at the corner of her lips as she bit her lower lip softly as she moved through the room a bit. Her back was never moved to him, always careful about that one. But then, she always did trust her enemies a bit more than her friends. She knew what to expect from her enemies at least. "I get paid for knowledge, Crow, and I'm damn good at my job." Her eyes flickered slightly to the blades he carried, but she said nothing about them. Instead she turned her gaze to the wine glass in his other hand, wondering if it was as much of a show as that smile he wore. She made her way slowly back towards the door. She was in his territory, after all, a mere intruder into his world. Seems she was always in someone else's world these days. With deft fingers she pushed her hair past her shoulders and stepped towards the man's chair. "So you'll agree to a meeting then?" Her voice had softened a bit with that one step and she stood poised, her left foot extended farther than her right in a twisted sort of stance as she watched him carefully, still softly chewing at her lower lip.

Eliah nods, slowly at her rather methodical manner. He isn't put out, or even relatively bothered by her words, finding out about him was not something that was overtly complicated, in fact Arien was likely an easy source for every little detail about the Carrion Crow before and after he became such. Still he returns to the business at hand and with the wave of his fee hand gently the high-elf speaks." I am willing to meet with the runner, kind of tired of seeing only the women who do his bidding to be honest, though I respect the reasoning behind it. I would have liked to have him here himself, after all my plan is to help him expand his business to almost double it's current station, a bit of travel by him to meet would have been rather, good in establishing some amount of trust."

Lita wondered for a moment who these other women might have been. She hadn't bothered to do any reconoissance about who the runner's previous business associates may have been. They were, in her world, no longer necessary. The thought would not cause a ripple through that carefully crafted facade, however, and she took another step forward, knowing, before he did, that he was going to accept her terms- the runner's terms, at that. "The runner offers a few... conditions..." she paused, managing a last small step forward. "Sixty percent share of trafficing goods and the comforts to deal within the Cenril markets... untroubled... He's not looking to infringe upon any current Cenril markets, and he expects the same in the Rynvale markets. He's not looking to set up shop here in Cenril, just needs to be able to expand his interests..." Her mind flashed to the face of a petite blonde and she bit back the snarl that curled her lip ever so slightly. It happened. She licked her lips and smiled at the Crow, a possible ally. She was a mere foot from his seat now, and she knew she was mostly likely pushing the luck with such proximity. "Still got the will for a meeting, Crow?"

Eliah doesn't make to shift from his lazy facade until he the raven-haired woman entered an easy striking distance. It's actually subtle his shifting into a much easier defense position, even drawing the rapier out across his lap upon the chair. another blade could be easily deflected to the left or right and even down away from his body and yet the slender stiletto-dagger in his opposing hand remains concealed. Lita's demands heard and her almost cock-sure attitude something one aware of his current thought process might snicker about. His secondary, just as lethal blade could take her in the chest or shoulder taking with it either her life or critical needed lethality on her part. He'd dealt with female assassins before, had the scars to prove it and despite her working for the 'runner' her reduction of his personal space was earning Lita a very precarious space alongside the spot where those women resided now; six feet of dirt and an unmarked stone. He doesn't drop the facade, regardless of the processes, keeping his charming, business-man facade even as she seems to think he's been taken over some form of barrel. " I don't talk terms with anyone save the Runner himself, not even you. So he can meet me and we can talk business, or he can remain a shadow and find his business without any increase in profit." She'd overstepped her abilities in trying to make demands, for the Carrion, only Finn could talk terms, so the male would have to slither from his hidey-hole to do so or find his business stagnant.

Lita held her hands out, palms facing upwards and fingers spread in a show of peace. "No worries Crow, I'm not sent to make demands, just to relay information." She was suddenly aware of the shift in his posture, that defensive state that mimicked so many when she had pressed the confines of her luck too thin. She knew when to back off and lay low. Sometimes even the best of predators had to allow prey to wander towards them. It was all in a matter of laying the right bait. She smiled ruefully as he drew the blade across his lap and her head tilted slightly as she admired the craftsmanship. She would definitely need more eyes in Cenril soon. Their business seeming to be concluded for the night, she turned slowly, her back to the crow for a moment before she'd glance back over her shoulder. "You'll get a message soon, Crow, from myself or the runner. We'll be in touch." and with that she was pushing the door open, nimble fingers pulling the hood of her cloak back up to cover her face. The night was cold and the air still, the beaches of Cenril beckoning her closer with the siren's call.

A message was quickly scribbled to the runner, a torn piece of crumpled parchment all she had on hand at the moment. With a sharp, loud whistle, a red hawk was summoned. Lita rolled the parchment neatly and with a little black ribbon tied it to the hawk's leg. "Fly true." she whispered as the hawk spread its wings and was gone again. The bird would reach its destination or would die trying...

"Runner~

The meeting with the Crow has been set. Whalers' Bar in Cenril. Midnight."

Later.. At the Whaler..

Eliah watches the small gathering for a moment before shooing the patrons with the motion of his hands and in turn the aid of his crew-members whom brutally shoo the collection of customers outside and take up a guard. Eliah is all too comfortably fitted into the guise of 'The Carrion' and he sits at a table with his back to a wall and his eyes to the door, the barmaid relinquishes a drink as per his request and seems all too willing to avoid the Corsair. The forsaken-high born is dressed as he might when aboard his ship, his blue eyes glinting with mischevious light as he practially reclines in the chair. There is a poignent addition to his long and neatly tied hair, beads and raven feathers braided into three matching strands on either side of his head. The carrion seems much like the prdator, awaiting prey, despite the 'frendly' intent for such a meeting.

The runner’s arrival would be heralded by the soft snort of the stallion that was his mount, and the sound of loose gravel crunching beneath its hooves. A softly murmured drawl of encouragement would be heard in the growing darkness beyond, before the sound of unhurried footsteps might be made out approaching the door. A pause, as of one taking note of his surroundings with his senses before stepping into a den of thieves would occur, and then that door would swing open to reveal the silhouette of the smuggler outlined in the space. An assessing, cursory glance would sweep the room, gold flecked gaze taking note of any and all factors that might benefit or impede the night’s negotiations. It was not difficult to identify the one with whom he can come to meet. Dammed rogue carried himself like a bloody Lord of the Manor. Finn resisted the urge to comment as such, choosing instead to wander toward the bar. The idle drawl that floated over his shoulder would be directed the Carrion’s way. “Reckon you lot have been around long enough to change the piss this dammed city serves up for somthin’ more fittin’..” A single finger was lifted in indicator of his desire for service. “Least..that’d have been my first order of business…” he said with dry humor in his tones.

Eliah took in the arrival of the smuggler with something akin to mild amusement, the words were held true enough and he couldn't help but offer a nod. " Indeed. It was my second order of business, my first order was the fare. Swill is grand, but the food was a mite bit more tragic affair. Still, I'm sure you'll find the drinks here have been rather easily improved. You must be the Runner.. I'm the Carrion, obviously. The demeanor of the corsair is not so much lord of the manor as much as it is a crafty cut-throat under the guise of nobility. He offers the opposing chair to Finn none the less and gives an immediate chuckle. " I have to say, I've a bit more respect for you already over the 'rat' I had to deal with upon my first stop here. Now, I'm a rather up-front business man and I might have something of which you desire and likewise you might have something I seek. I'm interested in selling goods, acquired in the more shady of fashions and I have heard you look to expand your trading and the like. I will be plain of course, Runner.. My piracy means I have baubles and such to off-load on occasions to the highest bidder. I would prefer to open up a business agreement with yourself, if you’re interested?" He pauses, folding his hands about the tankard of ale in hand.

Finn snared the drink slid across the rough bar top toward his hand, lifting the shot glass to his nostrils for an idle swirl that the scent of the liquor within might waft into his lungs. A soft grunt of approval would follow, whether in reaction to the carrion’s comment, or to the scent inhaled would be unclear. The runner would pay for the entire bottle, for good measure- one never negotiated dry after all- and turn away from the bar to stroll toward the corsair at his temporary throne. Without waiting for an invitation that he deemed unnecessary Finn dropped into the seat opposite the man and lifted the bottle in silent offer to share the beverage. Whatever Eliah’s reaction, the smuggler would respond to the corsair’s initial overture. “I know who you are mate..” he drawled softly, easily. “Knew it the moment I laid eyes on you..” The bottle neck tipped toward the tell tale raven feathers nestled in hair. “An’ I reckon if you’re lookin’ for somebody who can move your ..baubles.. You’ll not find better than me.” It was stated as a surprisingly neutral observation. Finn was not one to blow his own horn, but his network had grown way past the borders of the Shores in past months. “ I can move anythin’ you need sold, but I’m figurin’ in exchange you might cut me in on some of the action this side of the water..” For now he’d avoid specifics, allow the Carrion to make his own pitch. It would not hurt to see the cards the corsair was interested in dealing.

Eliah accepts a drink from Finn's bottle, pouring a shot before he makes to really pay heed to the opposing man's return. It is over all a pleasant enough meeting to begin with and neither it seems have an interest in playing games on the matter. So it's with a brief shift of those blue eyes back which brings the Carrion enough time to formulate the words for his offer. " I need someone to purchase my goods when I have them.. And you have an interest in the market here in Cenril. All the same I'm interested in offering aid to your running operations I have two extra ships at my disposal now, one a former navy vessel the other either being my ship, The Enchantress, or another, The Betrayal. All are crewed by able bodied men, this would give you an ability to secure and even guarantee your shipments over seas and keep my men contented when we are not otherwise busy. You want a bit of space in the market, you may take it, but on the condition that we come to this agreement, a partnership.. beneficial to the Corsairs and smugglers alike." He takes a slug of his drink before casually resting it to the table again, having not altered his emotional responses for the entirety of his offer.

Finn lifted his glass to his lips again, the action his own variation of stalling for time while he ran the offer through his mind looking for the loopholes, weighing pros and cons. “Seems a fair enough offer Crow..” he drawled idly, “Cept you seem to be misinformed about my role in our little transaction here..if it happens..” he added. Whisky gaze settled on blue, a disarming smile that didn’t quite reach his gaze tugging at his lips. “I’ll not be buyin your goodies myself..unless there’s somethin’ I’m particularly wantin’ for my own. I’ll find you a buyer..and when they pay up, I’ll make your delivery, and come back for my cut.” A flash of white cut across the tanned duskiness of his features. “An’ that’ll be what we need to finalize mate..before we talk about ships and expandin’ What’s my share of the profits of runnin’ for you? I’ve got a captain..reckon it’d do no harm to have one or two more..but what I need is air. Lotta market inland is dead ground because of the time it’d take to reach it..”

Alaine climbed up through the hatched floorboards in the back room, closing them with care as she surfaced and made it back to the proper ground-level. For the past few days, the elf had found herself stuck inside her… 'home' underground, the Foxes' clubhouse; she had suffered injuries as a result of a recent excursion of the group, and so, her private foundry had been made her surrounding as of late. With the confinement came frustration of course, wounds to right arm a hindrance and that proved her temporarily incapable of doing the heavy lifting required in normal-tinkering; one could only imagine how embittered an inventor may become when they are unable to do their work, like a warrior unable to lift his sword. The Arctic had indeed been locked up for too long, almost becoming an annoyance to her colleague Ralien, and so this night she decided to surface. Nothing elaborate was planned, just to get a simple drink and meal at the bar that rested above the hidden world far beneath the floorboards. Upon entering familiar Whalers', the elf scanned the surrounding with keen sterling hues, offering a smile to a particularly catching gent with red locks before lithe fingers pulled on beloved leather duster and she took a seat at one of the many booths, debating what to order.

Eliah said to you, "I suppose the best decision would probably be to make an even split betwixt us. As for the change in travel speed that's needed I might suggest the construction of a airship port for the city. "

Finn was not one lacking in observation, and even as he kept one part of his attention focused on the speech and body language of the corsair, he’d note the arrival of the female from what seemed a back room who did not seem at all in the mode of a serving wench. Whisky gaze would flicker from the woman, who was offered a half nod of acknowledgement, to that space from which she’d come and a thoughtful expression entered his gaze. Interesting. The corsair’s voice would bring him back to the moment at hand. “Reckon fifty-fifty sounds about right..an’ I’ll take on one of the ships, for now.” he drawled idly. “Don’t much figure you’ll get you an airship port overnight.. Was thinkin’ more along the lines of a dragon rider. Just found myself one short..could use me another. Appreciate it if you could use your contacts inland to rustle me up some prospects. My profit..is yours, after all.” The flash of white would come again.

Alaine had noticed the mindful glance paid by the human before she slipped into her booth. When a server came about, choppy ebon locks were puffed from her face in an attempt to free sterling hues from their veil, but no lasting result arose. Goggles were tweaked on her forehead before she clicked her tongue and glanced over the menu with a contemplative hum. "Hmm… Not much one for fish, but I suppose I'll try the crab, and simple ale please." A displeased look swept over fine features as she recalled the bar's lack of her favorite drink, but any alcohol would serve some satisfaction. Another glance was sent to the human, not quite sure why he seemed so intriguing; but gaze quickly shifted as fingers dug into oversized leather pocket and pulled Morri from his confines, the mechanical dragon clicking and whirring in satisfaction as he hopped onto the table and sniffed about.

Eliah smiles and gives his new partner a nod. " I'll see what I can do, welcome to Cenril...runner. You will find that since the new ownership it's become a much more tolerant and amusing place." The Carrion offers another toast to the smuggler and downs the last of his drink before calling the members of the Gathering to him and departing the bar.

Finn lifted his glass in a lazy toast the Carrion’s way. He was more than certain there would be other details to hash out, but it would be enough for a start. Downing what was left of is drink in a final swig, the runner pushed himself to his feet and contemplated for a beat, walking out the door and into the night. The brush of eyes across his person from the bar area however, gave him pause. Not because he had any particular interest in the female, though she was a fetching enough thing in an off beat kind of way, but because the demon of curiosity rode hard on his shoulder. Since when did women fully decked for the streets emerge from back rooms that should otherwise be pantries, and settle in for dinner as happy as you please? The runner would make the minor adjustment to his path, and wander over to the bar, bringing himself to an idle lean with that whisky gaze focused on the server behind the bar, despite the words that were directed toward the artificer. “The back room in a bar darlin’?’” he teased sofly. “Reckon you could do better..”

Alaine gently rubbed under her tiny dragon's jaw, Morri purring happily as inner-gears whirred and tail swished about the table. The server had brought her drink, though it seemed the crab would take a bit longer. And so, the elf raised the mug to smooth lips and sipped at the liquor. There were mixed emotions as the ale made its way down her throat; yes, the alcohol was satisfying, but brows furrowed just slightly, showing displeasure. It wasn't her normal drink, her comfort. Thoughts quickly strayed to the liquor cabinet underground in her foundry, the fine whiskeys and brandies awaiting her and, for a moment, she doubted her original instinct to venture out tonight. Perhaps a night in by the fire and some fine drink would have been the more satisfying option… Just then, a voice could be heard not too far away. Molten silver shot up to catch sight of the source, but no eyes met her gaze in return; the source of the voice wasn't focused on her, but she had been certain that the statement was intended for her own ears, wasn't it? The Arctic hummed and shifted in her booth, legs pulled up to cross 'pon the bench's surface and waiting for perhaps more acknowledgement from the intriguing stranger. His earlier statement was disregarded, for now.

Finn would smile to himself at her lack of reply. Had he the time, he might have stayed longer to sate his curiosity. As it was, he was late for a meeting with his partner. Lita would be wondering if the assignation she had orchestrated had borne fruit. "Some other time then.." he drawled softly, backing away from the bar. He'd make to turn for the door and pause. "If you're ever out Rynvale way, ask for Red. Reckon I can offer up a better dinner than this in any tavern on the Shores." And then, he was gone.