RP:Trying Their Luck

Part of the A Few Fox Tales Arc

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

This is a Rogue's Guild RP.

Summary: Leo catches a not-so-cheery Ina deep in her cups. They talk shop about procuring fireworks for the upcoming Beach Bash, and some other odds and ends besides.

The Jolly Roger

Through the haze that drifts along the wharf, a nefarious warehouse calls with a symphony of boozed conversation, rough banter, plucked strings and laughter which pours from red and black painted metal doors that brand their caution. They open to an impressive and occasionally wild scene; a spacious room framed by steel rafters, furnished with dark redwood, adorned with soft, black leather, and illuminated by chained, brass lanterns that hang at different lengths from above. Following the theme of it's name, the Jolly Roger is decorated from floor to ceiling with ship shrouds and worn sails, colors of defeat and past fleet, including a salvaged flag bearing the Captain's Skull n' Crossed-Swords. The walls display a collage of art and ability: symbols from all cultures, races, and walks of life; expressions of individual identities. The far back corner reveals this establishment to be a tattoo shop. A closed off section near stacked crates of inventory and an iron constructed weight lifting apparatus is set up for customer and artist to escape the fray and tend to the steam or puncture ink process. Each of those stations are customized to the artist's personality, but all are equipped with mechanized, reclining chairs, every drawer stocked with medical supplies, sharpened instruments and parchment. Often, the most populated corner of this shop is the 'waiting area' at an immediate right of the entrance, where the bar is located, with the savory aroma of the day's cuisine sometimes wafting alluringly from the small kitchen behind it. There, might be found three dark wood tables topped with kerosene lamps (each surrounded by four spade-marked chairs), with a few storage box-benches and one large leather couch available for seating. To the left is a recently built stage with an odd assortment of instruments, including a combination of drum heads and symbols that appear to be bolted together in a seven piece kit. Not far away, patrons attend to a game of 'darts' played with throwing knives, that specific wall structured with two boards that depict higher value for the smaller, inner most rings. At the center of all this is an island of shelves and work surfaces, organized with bottles of anesthetic and alcohol, vials of various inks, spikes of different metals, foreign tools and the occasional blood-stained cloth.

Ina wonders if the shop was supposed to be closed up at this hour. She supposed it was possible, even probable, that the doors had meant to be closed. But if she had any proper recollection of what her hands had done in order to pass the threshold, and pave a path towards the bar- it had long since vanished several drinks ago. The foxkin is on a mission, after all, one that sees her splayed across the bar top, her tails limply dangling off the other edge- and a small pyramid of empty glasses stacked near her face- providing a distorted image of the entryway. Today's poison of choice was a copious quantity of mojitos, heavy on citrus and mint. Which- she was working her way through at such a steady clip, that even if Leo had been present, she'd still be making good time at annihilating her short-term memory.

Leoxander didn’t close up shop anymore. Why bother? Besides, Gorehilt and Lita had a mess to clean up that week and fortunately, someone had followed through, but there was a slight lingering stench of fungus beer on the premises that he hoped Lora might cure with her candles or heated water flowers. But for now, the potent smell of herb might do the trick, as he entered the warehouse pub with a hemp rolled ‘cigarette’ hanging from his lips and paused in the doorframe the moment he caught the trickster’s scent, unless she somehow disguised that, too. Seemed today wasn’t a day for her incognito act, his frame probably coming into that distorted view behind the glasses as he caught the scent of mint, too. “To wha’doaye owe the pleasure?” Of her company, of course, as he approached the bar and picked up the topmost glass on the stack to sniff at it. It smelled a hell of a lot better than the orc’s preferred brew.

Ina jerks up n a near startle, but her arm somehow manages to miss the entire stack of glasses- a fact which seems to elicit a scowl, more than anything else. Really, it's only when Leo avails himself to one of the glasses that the precariousness of her construct begins to come into play- a faint clink of glasses hearkening the subtle shift of "art project". That said, Leo's mention of clean-up still manages to click home for her, and so it's with a sigh that she neatly jostles one of the cups- her finger moving more by some instinctive impulse, than any real talent- the pyramid once more shifting into a state of equilibrium, "I dunno. Been thinkin', n' that's always, always dangerous, innit? S'not too fun ta overthink. 'Specially when promises or things thereabouts are involved." It's not just that the foxkin isn't disguised, it's that she's outright blatant- the normally neat dress clothes that were almost a trademark of her times card-sharking a rumpled mess, a few blotches of blood having caught near the lapels. "Issit a pleasure? Really?" Her head cants a bit, and she tries to focus those oddly luminescent eyes of hers on Leos- though she ultimately settles for a spot on his forehead, "I sorta regret- sometimes, pickin' the same side. I think ja woulda been a fun rival."

Leoxander moved behind the bar, using her glass but just rinsing it out to retrieve a bottle from the lower shelf, rather than the typical upper shelf the good liquor usually occupied. He kept his well-hidden and poured himself some of that spiced rum Lita had gifted him. Or someone had. “Yeah, I dare to think so.” Regarding her thinking process in retrospect. Only after her drink did he honestly answer the other question regarding her company. “It’s never dull, I’ll tell you that. You run out of people to make trouble with an’ bored?” The smoke he’d taken from his lips for that drink was toked from one last time before he stubbed it out in the ashtray, leaning on the shelf counter that was behind the actual bar with the tattered flag pinned up over the towheaded mess he always seemed to sport. “I might have work for you if that’s the case.”

Ina quirks her eye towards the procured bottle, more the movement of the thing than anything else, before her attention flicks up towards the ceiling one arm loosely reaching up as though she might be able to grasp hold of one of the rafters, despite the distance. "I run through people quickly. Thissis true." She wiggles the pinky of the outstretched hand, marvelling at the slight disconnect between her sight and senses, even as she starts to gradually fold them into a fist, "So, no regrets 'bout me keepin' ya on yer toes, then? S'a good." That said, whatever curious melancholy might be tinging her tone, the mention of a job is still enough to tilt her attention back down, a pout forming on her lips with the same mutable smoothness that she changes guises, "And already back ta' business~ Charmed, 'm sure. ...But what do ya got fer' me? This one actually gonna require work?" There's a moment where she considers rolling her eyes in an exaggerated manner, but halfway through she regrets the attempts, at settles for simply shutting an eye as though her attention might not be wholly riveted.

Leoxander watched her antics without much change in his expression. Rogues, as they were not really publicly known, came in all forms. The outcasts that never quite fit into proper society. Ina definitely belonged in that category. She was Pandora’s box to the pirate, but he’d dealt with a few strange characters in his days. “There’s a line there somewhere, Trix. But you haven’t overstepped it yet.” It’s when he enunciated his words better one might know him to be more serious. Finishing off what was left in that glass, some orange and cinnamon spiced rum with a hint of mint, he dared to take another from her structure and refilled it with his for her to partake. Yes, right to business with him, as always, but he was tolerating her lounge on the bar and probably a few stray foxtail hairs to brush away later. “I guess I should start by tellin’ you we’re throwin’ a party. I was tryin’ to think of a few things we might need to make a show of it.” He offered the filled glass to her, even, by hand.

Ina drew one leg up, if only so she could casually fold the other over it, her foot bouncing as though restless, or deep in thought, "I say what I mean, sometimes. N' I'll give ya credit- ya've at least been on the level, much as I've asked ya anythin'." When the pirate plinks at her horrible little construct, she's relieved that it requires no intervention this time- and even more so when the glass returns with a finer substance than her own intentionally poor fare. And such a generous offer to accompany it. By impulse, her hands nearly drift over to make good of his prodigious hospitality- and yet before she can make good of that habitual greed, she freezes. Her fingers fidget, drum at nothing in particular- and then with a rather particular degree of care, are settled on the very edges of the rim so she can remove it from his grasp, "Mighty fine 'a ya cap’n. Fer tha' drink n' what I'm guessin' is tha' invite. So, you wanting me ta be crafty- or you more mindful of some procurement of tha' odd n' -...somethin'" She sticks her tongue out for a second, biting down on the tip as she looks for something suitably alliterative, "..outrageous? ...Ja knows what I mean." And before he can second guess the wisdom of giving her more alcohol, she's making good on taking a healthy drink of the rum.

Leoxander was relatively patient with her. He’d been working on that. Patience. Sometimes it only took a little and that was really all he had to spare, yet. “Yeah, yer invited, but I don’ want any blood on the sand.” Not that she was the murderous sort, as far as he knew, but she did have a way of acquiring things. “I saw some colourful fire displays in the sky, recently.” He couldn’t quite recall which gala or gathering it was from, but it had caught his attention. “Like a canon for colours, rather’n war.” Another drink from his glass taken and he might have to brush a tail or two aside to pull himself up onto a hop of a seat at her south end, alongside the foot bouncing anxiously on its leg perch. “If Fox were still around I know she could figure it out…” Alaine, he meant, or at least that was possibly her name. He didn’t ever address her by that in the past. “You kind’a remind me of her, sans the goggles.”

Ina does her best to feign indignation, one hand drifting over her chest to point, as though he might be implying the presence of some other troublemaker, "Ja wound me, Sir~ Dun worry, I'll take a bit more care ta keep anyone off my tail." With the way she was going, she was going to need to. That thought, above any other, leaves her frowning, her healthy swig followed by a smaller pensive one. Really, the way she falls quiet, it might actually be difficult to tell if she was even paying attention, were it not for the listless way one of her tails drifts aside to make room for him, or the way her ears follow his position, "I dun have tha' brogue, or whateva-" Except, that's not quite right, is it. Goggles didn't queue the former leaders face to mind, and so she finds herself clarifying, Just in case. Just. In case. "Have a description- beyond goggles? ...Sounds fun, if I remind ja of 'er."

Leoxander looked ahead and seemed to study the flag design he knew better than the back of his own hand for a moment or two before his gaze trailed over toward the foxkin lounging on the countertop. “She made those steam masheens, as she called them, that we used for ink.” Keturah popped into his mind, abruptly, because Lita had awakened some of his lost memory just a night before. He remembered the parasite, now, but he dismissed that thought as well to try to focus on the good things. Like that party he mentioned. “Redhead, like you. Worked for Red, actually.” Another drink that nearly drained the tumbler in his hand as he searched forward again at nothing in particular. “Now that I think of it, she wasn’t actually sportin’ the ears and tail. Guess that was just her…” A motion of his hand with that cut glass… “...persona.” He finished it off and set it down empty at his other side. “But back to the Skyfire. More display than slay. You got any lead on somethin’ like that or we gonna have to rob a city of their secret?”

You crinkles her nose at the mention of machines- the foxkin none-too-keen on their intricacies. They were wretched things to break. Still, she holds her tongue until he manages to provide a description, at about which point she lets out a slight hiss of breath, "Figyahs. Should I make the tail fluffier- so that detail lives on past me?" As though to emphasize that point, the foxkin does become a bit fluffier, tails floofing out to a length that might be more befitting colder climes, and her hair drifting further down her back. "If she managed tha' persona, though- I regret not meetin' 'er." The rest of the glass is downed, before Ina plants it back atop her precarious pyramid- watching as the whole thing wobbles til near the point of tilting, and then snaps back. "Pfft. I mean, ja know somewhere- I can definitely scoop it. But, if ja askin' ta commission it, that sounds like it might be a treat ta figure out." ...Pretty edible explosives sound like the kind of hazardous she just -loved-. Maybe she could make some sort of sense out of it in the morning.

Leoxander did his best to ignore the tails ‘floofing’ out close by. Maybe even in his space, in which case he would (actually gently) push it aside to drape across or off the bar. “Yeah, there’s quite a few faces you missed that you might’a found kinship in with, kid.” He actually didn’t know how old Trish, Trix, or any other name to apply was. There were people six times his own years that still acted like happy sprites, and then there were his type who had to grow up quick as a mortal until some drastic change made the mood worse. But in that defence, he was becoming more of himself, again, lately. A self he didn’t quite fully remember, yet. Leo had no magic, and no ability to read minds. But he could read a tone or behaviour almost as easily, and afforded a sidelong look the trickster’s way. “I’m not talkin’ about ($%^&) to explode too soon. Can’t draw too much attention to who shows up.” ‘Rogues’ was never really officially any sort of title. It was squad, gang, underground, flock. “I ain’t tryin’ to bring too much attention to my island.” Yes, his. He always called it that. Official or not.

Ina likely would have invaded his space to a degree, but the moment his hand starts to come near- she'd have flicked it away from him, more for her own sake, than his. "Well. Somethin' ta look forward to, then- if yer illustrious... But also secret ... bidness'ing." Still, before she can become too complacent with her own thoughts, he's caught on to her particular train of thought- something which has her gesturing away, "Ugh. Fine. Ja want stable 'n tested- I guess we can just...rob the dwarves or somethin'." She huffs, the excess bangs which had formed blowing in all directions, "Spoilsport. But I get it. Don't make a mess of things here."Which opens up possibilities to Ina- because if she were ever to convince Leo that an idea for a gathering was good, did that mean anywhere else was free game? Marvellous. Only, "My heads' killin' me. Which'd be fine, if I had a necromancer's address- but 'm still drawin' a blank on that one." Smooth.

Leoxander replied with a hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth for her reliable and tested comment. “Relatively.” A big word for a scoundrel. He slid forward off the bar and made sure his glass was empty before he replaced it on part of her pyramid, making his way for the door. “There’s a cot in the storage room if the wood ain’t to yer liking.” A motion toward the door passed the new billiards table where there were some buckets, mops, brooms, no windows, and an uncomfortable spot to rest - but Loravelle had probably put some blankets and a pillow on it.