RP:What's Left

Part of the Welcome To The End Of Eras Arc

Summary: Kasyr and Lefty speak on the unfortunateness of what the Undead quarter of Vailkrin has become, with Kasyr listing off several names to give the undead a bit of a headstart on dealing with the matter.

Hanging Corpse Tavern, Vailkrin

Kasyr isn't quite sure what he's supposed to do with the profile he'd been given. To say that it was weird, was an immense understatement- but here he was, looking in the tavern for a, "Lefty?" The description he'd been given was bad enough, but every part of this almost felt like a joke. Only, this didn't quite feel like their brand of humour. ..It was also his fault for Veto'ing the dossier on Ernest- but, that came with it's own problems.

Lefty is sitting at the bar. Rather, an aged avian with impeccable grooming and a taste for fine suits is sitting at the bar. He sports an eye patch over his left eye, so surely one of his elegant standing could be none other than the appointed personage.

Lefty said, " I presume you are the one that interrupted our weekend." He sips gingerly from his his glass. The dark viscous liquid isn't chardonnay, but needs must when the master calls. "I represent the interests of your client. His voice, as it were.

Kasyr glances around the once familiar tavern, before he shakes his head and begins to make his way over to the bar. Steadmen, perhaps one of he few faces he recognizes here, is flagged down, "Blood wine, S'il te plait- just leave the bottle." Which leaves the swordsman to take a second look at the avian- and then slowly glance over towards the 'coat-rack' near the door, "Represent his interests like that, ou like a lawyer, en fait?" The swordsman may have smirked a little, even as he searched for some hint of reaction from the man, "You might need to be more specific. I sent you an invitation, certainment- but, I can't make any claims to the interruptions which are currently happening at broad." That careful bit of pressure seeping in.

Lefty said, "Represent, as in I'm here to ascertain whether my patron is interested in the invitation you so presumptuously extended." There's a flicker of doubt for a second. "Though, from what I hear that seems to be your modus operandi. Lord Azakhaer, is it? Your reputation precedes you, and the casualties follow. A real harbinger of doom." Lefty's envoy, for lack of a better term, signals Steadman for another glass. He hasn't finished his first, but quickly remedies that lack. "Frankly, I consider this conversation pointless." He jolts in pain. "Unfortunately, I am not the final arbiter. Master Lefty is quite ready to listen."

Kasyr offers a lifted eyebrow in response to the title of 'Harbinger', and his (somewhat earned) reputation for collateral damage. This was like the Asharam meeting all over again, That said, the swordsman manages to keep his mouth shut until the 'representative' has said his peace- though there is a faint smirk at the shudder that wracks the man, and his abrupt concession that the show must go on, "Well, I appreciate your masters graciousness then-" As Steadmen brings the wine bottle and glass over to the table, the Kensai simply pops the cork, and begins to pour himself a drink, "As it currently stands- we're facing a few disasters. Apocalyptic godlings, local terroists trying to assassinate neighbouring politicians." There's a pause, before the Kensai casually adds, "Poorly." The drink poured, he casually swirls it around the glass before taking a sip, "Which leaves the present situation. A city that has been pushed to the brink by a fair few threats, a shield that can protect no one- et more pertinent to you, an Undead Quarter that has yet to find a figure to rally behind. Seems pertinent in times like these."

Lefty let's his disgust be known in the clearest, most painful way possible. His envoy drops like a sack of bricks. "Gods be-damned politics," he hisses out while trying to regain his footing. Faint tendrils of smoke waft from behind the eye patch, but the envoy stands up and brushes himself off. "I beg you to pardon my rudeness. The master dislikes political machinations, particularly when the massively stupid are involved." He flicks a speck of dirt off his shoulder, completely ignoring the immolation of his eye patch. "Are we to understand that you want my lord to wear the badge of state and 'clean' up your mess?"

Kasyr side eyes the avian, before calmly plucking a cigarette out from the packet of his jacket, and prodding it at the mans eyepatch. "Thanks." There's a pause to inhale and get the cherry probably going, before he exhales and clarifies the thoughts, "I can't -grant- you a badge of state. The undead community in Vailkrin has always been it's own. But it's been somewhat content to be complacent in Redhales absence. Which es -extremely- dangerous in the face of everything that's going on. I can have some documentation sent to debrief you- but, if I'm not mistaken, that population es going to be hit -devastatingly- hard by what's to come." The Cigarettes tapped off, the Kensai using that moment to be a complete gremlin and take a fresh sip of wine, "I want you to establish yourself as a viable candidate, so that when things begin to settle- I -can- recognize you. Less clean up, more- keeping things from going to hell." He gestures off towards the taverns door, and the streets beyond, a trail of smoke wafting in the wake of the movements, "Tricky, with all the business ahead- but necessary work."

Lefty remains very still as the cigarette ignites on the embers of his rage. "You are a crude, uncouth vagrant unfit to sit in the presence of my master. You desire for my Lord Lefty to exert effort and grace in a way you cannot." The envoy slowly, deliberately places his hand on the counter tracing the edge of his glass. "The time has passed when we worked for your alleged nonexistent shadow government. The limiter is dead and gone, beyond the reach of any necromancer, years ago. Lefty is not....the Lady. He does not have her inhibitions, her fears. Do you trust him to have more discretion?"

Kasyr may have smirked slightly at the avians bluster, but he otherwise allows the man to run through his spiel, "You're pretty good at gatekeeping, as far as secretaries go. I'm sure you would have provoked most potential business partners into a pique of rage." The kensai runs his tongue over one of his prominent canines, before snapping down on the cigarette and taking a long draw. It gave him time to think- since the man had at least confirmed what the documents had said. This was, in fact, a sentient left-over from Ginger. In a sense, that meant there was slightly more legitimacy to any claim that came from it. Even if they weren't quite ingratiated to each other, "If anything, that likely makes it better. I don't want the undead quarters subservient. Just as I once worked with Redhale to do, I would like to see them flourish under their own governance, one that's independant, but which can -hopefully- be negotiated with for the betterment of the city at large." Smoke blossoms from between his teeth, a faint crackle of something not quite right carried within, "I don't -trust- much, but my instincts tell me you wouldn't want to see the city backslide into the days before the Civil war. Or worse, Joliettes days."

Lefty said, "Miss Thorne certainly did live up to her name. I'll give you that." The avian envoy brushes a strand of grey back into place, fighting the tremors in his hand with every ounce of dignity he can muster. Of course he succeeds in regaining his composure. Lefty had chosen him for this very reason. "If the rumors I hear are accurate, I may need to step in anyway, just to get some peace." He holds the glass of his first drink just below the edge of the bar, and carefully sweeps the smoldering eyepatch ash into the empty glass. The avian retrieves a new patch from his breast pocket, indicating that immolation isn't a surprising outcome, just another Tuesday. "Perhaps we can bring about this autonomous undead governance, sans assassinations of external city governments. Just remember the most important part." The avian reaches up underneath his eyepatch, and unsettling crackling and hissing ensues. His hand blisters and bursts, the liquid boiling inside the fingers that hold the glowing ember. With no rush whatsoever, he places an eyeball on the counter and exits the tavern in search of a druid willing to heal his injuries. He bumps shoulders with a sickly looking dryad who is entering at the same time, they nod to each other and the dryad takes his abandoned seat. She lifts the still-burning ocular organ to her own left eye. Her left eye turns black, then red, then it turns to ash. She replaces it with the red eye in her hand. "Yes, the most important thingy-whatsit. You asked for this." She picks up the avian's abandoned drink and pouts it over her face. "s***, I'll never get used to this.

Kasyr tips his glass in the Avians direction as he moves to depart, though pauses when the ma removes his eye, and it's swapped into the eyesocket of the newest arrival, "I think spooky would have liked you." He draws on the his smoke, then casually extends it off to the side, so he can safely spark it into ashes away from the pair of them. Leaving him quite free to start sipping at his drink again, "So, what business necessitates the swap, par chance?" He's not entirely expecting an answer, given that likely fell under the purview of 'secrets', but he was feeling conversational, "...And, yes- if what I know is correct, I think it would be in your best interests The godling and his cultist may carry the purview of 'Undeath', but- free will is not something he seems to look kindly on. Hence why I'm hoping someone can help prepare contingencies, or at the very least, look after the people. And I do not think it should be a vampire that acts in the best interests of the Undead." He empties his glass, and starts to tilt the bottle back in, "...I'm fairly certain you saw how that turned out, non?" The civil war had been a messy business.

Lefty allows his new host to clean her face by brushing the liquid into the abused socket. "The swap was for his health. You ever put a friggin' fireball inside your head and tried to hold it there? Sure, you can smoke without ever buying a cig. Maybe you're into that, but it sucks, and the old man needed heals." The steam subsides as the eye cools down to a manageable temperature. Ms. Lettuce rubs her face, as if that would get rid of the unpleasantness. "Constipgencies? No, my bowel movements are very regular. I can guarantee that Boss Lefty is good at taking care, tho. I mean, as long as you behave." She gestures to Steadman, a little rudely, but whatever. "Chocolate milk, dude! Boss is good for it." She turns back to the kensai-thing that totes killed some lady, or something. The details are fuzzy, and not her problem. "If peeps aren't good, he'll take care of them, too. Let me say, being a living brazier isn't ideal, but I still prefer it to being them."

Kasyr may have shrugged at the mention of the old man's health, but is otherwise silent until the less-than-witty salad rambles her way through the spiel. It was a little bit telling, really. The personality was distinct enough, so they were ...hosts then, not puppets? "Lefty can't talk, so he needs recipients for his will. Correct?" How much it would get distorted might depend on the host- though he'd have to hope that it's interpretation of matters wasn't similarily influenced. "In any case- I don't think you have to worry about me behaving. Despite me being a bit, uncouth- my concern has always been with the city et its citizens." There's a pause, and the Kensai casually adds, "Do you have any plans on how to start things off, on your end?"

Lefty || Lettuce holds up her finger while she gulps down her milk with great pleasure. "The plan is diplomacy and fire. Not my thing. The old man will talk to everyone and the Boss will decide who to burn, who to eat. If everyone stands down, we all get to enjoy the rest of our week. If not, a few well-placed fires." She shrugs. "He did spend almost a decade staring at the Lady's brain. Skulduggery and arson, but diplomacy first."

Kasyr is wracking his brains for individuals that the curious creature would possibly benefit from talking to, especially amongst those he'd represent, and sadly, the one that comes to mind most prominently is, "Ernest. He's a prominent business man. Getting him to support your venture will likely do well to gain traction. Khitti too, as the necromancer guild leader- since they obviously traffic with the quarters." There's a pause here, and however much there had been the need to establish it's independance from it's predecessors, the words still needed to be said, "There -is- a certain legitimacy to your claim due to your roots. Even if you're not the Lady, that can be used." The kensai tosses a few gold coins on the table, then gestures between himself and the dryad, not only covering their drinks, but getting a second round. At least they weren't a stuffed shirt. "Bradyn might also be a good one to tackle. Might be able to put you in the right direction of notable dead to talk with. Just. Try not to stir up any 'well-placed' pyres, and mind the books- et you'll do fine." Was that everything? Perhaps at a glance. It'd be a start, and even if it didn't click together neatly- it might at least provide them a member of the community to rally behind and avoid them being easy prey. "The necropolis -needs- help. Figuring out the what, and providing it es your job. I'm curious to see where you'll go from here."

Lefty will remember it all, for surely Lettuce will not. "A nest, a brain, and a cat? Weird." She sips the new drink more slowly. "I suppose that's a good start to the list. There's a few people already on the list for extortion and blackmail, but we'll burn that bridge when we cross it." She tilts her head to one side, listening. "As for his relation to the Lady. Let's leave that as need-to-know. Your allies might need-to-know, but there are those who do not remember her fondly." Lettuce taps her fingers and hums as the Boss deliberates his next words. “Partly correct with the ‘receptionists of the will’, B-T-Dubs. He uses us because most corpses don’t have staying power, but it’s harder. It’s probably killing us. Yes, the boss will find the problems and deal with them. No problem.” She blinks. “Er, no, the opposite. He says it’s a huge problem, but he’ll still do. . .something.”

Kasyr begins to get up from where he was seated, though, he may have paused long enough to turn on his heels and afford the casual dryad with the courtesy the avian had been denied, offering a faint bow , "Well, I appreciate the help- and I'll bear all that in mind." He straightens up, and then casually reaches over to grab the bottle he'd bought and take it out with him, "And hey, if it is killing you- at least you picked the perfect city for it." He offers a wave, and begins to walk off, "If it's -huge-, you should know where to find me. Adieu~" And really, if there wasn't anything left to say or address, he was quite happy to step out the door.